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Bruce still wasn’t used to lying on starched sheets since returning back home to Gotham.
Still, as his back rubbed against the scratchy surface, he wondered if he had finally reached nirvana. Strong hands grasped at his hips, not to restrict so much as to ground him against the hot mouth attempting to pry his own open. His fingers tangled in the sheets beneath him and he found himself near incoherent. The only thought racing through his brain was the deafening chant of want, need, fuck.
A slow roll of hips met his own, driving his body deeper into the mattress. When he could finally catch his breath, it was short and sharp, faltering as teeth dug into his collarbone. He glanced over to the right, catching sight of himself in the hotel room’s full length windows, their curtains still drawn open from the morning. Bruce admired the taunt lines of his muscles, the way his arms flexed in the sheets, and the body which held his own down and spread across the bed.
It was only when his fingers scrambled into a familiar mop of curly hair and tugged that his gaze drifted back to the closed eyed man towering over him. Bruce squinted for a moment, disbelieving. He shut his eyes, reopened them, and forced the sleep drunken haze away from his vision to confirm this wasn’t some insane dream. He stabbed a finger into the other man’s cheek, earning an all too familiar whine at the action. He wasn’t hallucinating.
When the man ducked his head into the crook of Bruce’s neck, mouth imploring over his skin, Bruce’s eyes stuttered closed and he moaned. There was no doubt about it — he was about to have sex with his best friend.
“Well, fuck.”
———
FIVE DAYS EARLIER
———
“You look ridiculous.” Bruce glared over the top of his Prada sunglasses. Hunched in his seat, he spared a glance around the crowded airport lounge before sliding further down until his knees near knocked into the seat across from him. He prayed no one would recognize him — though who would believe the sight if they did. The Bruce Wayne, tucked into a shitty airport diner, waiting to fly coach to Miami. It was a bad joke awaiting an even worse punchline.
Across from him, Clark let out a pleased hum. Looking up from the grease pile that was his takeout burger, he dusted the shoulders of his garish Hawaiian shirt and flashed Bruce a wide toothed smile. “I was told to blend in, this is blending in.”
“The neon palm trees is really selling the ‘covert’ aspect of this assignment,” Bruce grumbled, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table top. Its surface was tacky, ringed with overused glasses and scratched plates. He picked at a stubborn patch of what he assumed to be barbecue sauce dried to the side of the serviette holder and sighed. “Does it always take this long to board?”
“Well, geez, Bruce. How would I know?” Clark shrugged and Bruce shuddered as he took a bite of his burger. A trail of ketchup burst from it, landing on a sloppy puddle over his fries. Bruce considered if it was time he turned vegetarian. “Most flying I do takes a nanosecond and a half.”
“Have I told you before you’d make an excellent spy?” Bruce mocked, tilting his head. “You really are great at not blowing your cover.”
“Relax.” Clark waved him off, scrubbing a napkin over his face. Bruce’s fingers twitched, eyes honing in on a spot of mustard to the left of Clark’s jaw he failed to catch. “It’s five in the morning and there are, like, two other people. I doubt they’re listening to us.”
“And that is why you’re never allowed to lead a mission on your own.” Bruce huffed, caving. He leaned over to swipe his thumb over the offending condiment. “You always underestimate people.”
Clark’s flush didn’t go unnoticed, even as he cleared his throat and offered a teasing smile to Bruce. “Thanks, honey.”
Never one to step down from a challenge, Bruce slipped his thumb into his mouth and licked it clean. Tossing Clark a wink, he grinned back all teeth. “Anytime, sugar.”
At Clark’s floundered expression, Bruce decided to spare him going into anaphylactic shock and pulled out his tablet. He looked through his burner account’s emails, checking the suite confirmation for their hotel near the city’s center. The booking was made under Malone, the room assured to have a view of the ocean and inclusive of the continental breakfast. The latter a non-negotiable when Clark agreed to assist Bruce. They had decided to forgo a rental car, figuring it be better to get information on foot, though he had promised Clark they would spend a couple hours biking around Little Havana.
“I told Dick to call of anything major came up while we were away,” Bruce said, earning a muffled hum. It seemed Clark was not done with his mystery meat sandwich. “We’re only gone four days, but I’m sure with Ivy out of Arkham again there will be chaos waiting by the time I return. Plus I wouldn’t put it past Damian to over-exert himself on patrol.”
“Luthor’s also been weirdly silent lately,” Clark chimed in and Bruce arched a brow, not looking away from the tablet. He could feel Clark pout at the inattention. Confirmed shortly by the tap of a foot to his ankle. He grunted, raising his head to acknowledge the manchild in front of him. “Lois said she’d message if anything suspicious popped up, but from what I heard at your gala it seems like he’s busy greasing elbows more than plotting my demise… again.”
“You were at the gala?” Bruce’s brow furrowed, trying to recall the event. It had been the other week, a fundraiser for the youth project Wayne Enterprises was launching in the Narrows. It was yet to get off the ground officially, the fundraiser more to secure outside investments and spread the word. He had clocked Lois and Cat Grant at the event, though somehow he had missed the bumbling giant.
“By the time I arrived you were long gone.” Clark shrugged and Bruce’s frown deepened. “Relax, B. I’m sure your speeches were great and you had plenty of praise to lap up from Cat.”
“I do not need your praise.” Bruce scoffed, internally irritated at himself. He could feel a blush forming across his cheeks and he glared down at his tablet, pulling up the schematics of their hotel. The room he booked was directly above Lance Chapton’s, the morally grey relationship therapist they were to shadow for the next few days. Tim had caught wind of the man’s growing appearance at the Iceberg Lounge, more than a little cozied up to the Penguin. He wasn’t sure how involved the man was in Oswald Cobblepot’s dealings, nor why the two would have ever met, but when Bruce found out Chapton was holding a conference at the hotel he figured it was as good a chance as any to confirm things. Clark coming along was merely to provide the added bonus of superhearing, and nothing more.
“Sure,” Clark drawled, pulling Bruce back to the present. He watched as Clark slowly wiped his hands clean before taking a long sip from his near empty cup of coffee. “But you want it.”
Bruce pointedly ignored the screech of his chair as he pushed away from the table. “We should head to our gate.”
Taking the out, Clark smiled and stood up. Insisting on dragging both their carry-on suitcases, Clark talked a mile a minute about his plans for the trip. The sights he wanted to see, on the one day Bruce had blocked off for fake tourist adventuring so as not to raise suspicions for their loitering around the hotel. Beyond the staff assuming they were busy attempting to ruin the bedding, he figured having a superhuman used to zapping around the world at a moments notice trapped within four walls may be cruel.
As they waited by their gate, Bruce tucked away his tablet and replaced it with his burner phone. On the lock screen was a photo of Clark at the beach, crouched by the waves as he ushered a lost crab back into the water. It was a photo Martha Kent had sent him when he asked for something that would help secure their cover story. They were going to the conference as a couple on the rocks and wanting to learn the secret to having a successful, lasting relationship.
When Bruce had sent Clark a doctored photo of himself at the Metropolis museum, he had been alarmed at Clark’s dismissal and claims he already had an image set up. He was even more embarrassed when it turned out to be a photo of Bruce asleep, and with his mouth slightly open, resting his head on Clark’s shoulder on the couch in his office at Wayne Tower.
“I’ve ordered a taxi to pick us but and take us directly to the hotel,” Bruce told Clark, immediately interjecting at Clark’s affronted look. “We are here on vacation, meaning we are here to relax like normal people.”
“You’re really no fun, you know that, B.”
“I’d just rather not spend my first few minutes in Miami fighting the urge to throw up,” Bruce said, deadpan. Clark merely rolled his eyes, throwing an arm over Bruce’s shoulders. He immediately tensed before shifting into Clark’s hold. Bruce reminded themselves they were a couple, and therefore should have no qualms in showing affection. He should’ve said no to Clark, taken Diana with him instead. At least that way he didn’t have to force his heartbeat to stay regular any time he was given the slightest amount of affection. Instead there he was, stuck with a puppy who most likely won't let Bruce out his sight.
"I need a drink," Bruce muttered, trying to estimate how far a walk it would be to reach the nearest bar. He felt Clark tsk at him, sharp breath grazing Bruce's cheek. "Don't judge me, I've never flown commercial. I'm nervous."
"Yes, because this will be so much different than riding in the B– your private plane," Clark corrected, blushing at the terse glare Bruce levelled at him. “Come on, it’ll be fun! I’ll even give you half of my complementary cookie if you keep the scowling to a minimum.”
“I do not scowl,” Bruce murmured.
“True.” Clark nodded before taping Bruce on the nose. He grimaced at the action. “You brood, very big difference — maybe bad.”
“Is it too late to dump you and go get Diana?” Bruce snarked, Clark’s retort halted by an announcement over the speaker that it was time for them to board. Sighing, Bruce followed behind Clark as he wheeled their luggage. He prayed for a smooth journey filled with mind numbing in-flight entertainment. Surely the next few days wouldn’t be so bad.
* * *
The first day in Miami was awful. At least by Bruce’s standards. His luggage was lost so after checking into their hotel they spent the afternoon roaming the streets for acceptable clothing. Clark was thoroughly amused with the situation, returning to their suite with three new Hawaiian t-shirts and a baseball cap covered in multi-colored alligators.
Dropping onto the edge of the bed, Bruce rubbed his eyes and frowned. He looked up at the sound of Clark humming, bemused by the sight of the Alien hanging his new shirts in the closet. Drawing to his feet, Bruce unzipped his carry-on and pulled out an array of cables and recorders. Settling one under their bed, he checked the signal of the audio recorder on his tablet. Once the signal was confirmed he moved to set another by the bar, ignoring Clark as he followed behind him. As he turned away from the bar, Bruce almost jumped at finding Clark than an inch in front of him.
“Jesus christ!” He scoffed, pushing at Clark’s chest until he took a step back. “Do you know nothing about personal space?”
“Sorry.” Clark rubbed sheepishly at the back of his head, throwing Bruce a small grin. “Was just wondering what you were up to.”
“Surveillance,” Bruce answered, blunt. “Chapton will be returning to his room for the night shortly. Will give me a chance to test how thick the floors are and if we can risk leaving the recorders unmonitored during the day. They should be able to pick up sound even if he whispered, but I can’t be sure until I can test them. I’ll also set one up for our room, incase any of the staff let something slip or Chapton catches onto us and tries to take a look around.”
“Sounds good. I’ll also keep an ear out, let you know when he’s back in the building,” Clark offered, needing to seem helpful and mildly deflating when all Bruce did was grunt back. Trudging to the bed, Clark claimed his side of the bed and took out his phone. He smiled at the dozing photo of Bruce that greeted him, glancing over at the man and chuckling at the scowl he was inflicting on his tablet’s screen.
“Totally a scowler,” he murmured to himself.
Bruce’s head tilted up at him, a confused twist in his brow. “What was that?”
“Nothing!” Clark blurted, internally groaning at how guilty it sounded. Bruce levelled him a suspicious look before returning to tap at his screen. Clark unlocked his phone, mindlessly replying to his messages before his stomach growled.
“How are you already hungry? You literally ate both our in-flight meals.” Bruce glared at Clark’s stomach, as though it was a foreign specimen he couldn’t decipher. When it rumbled again, Bruce rolled his eyes to the ceiling and huffed. “My god, you’re worse than Jason.”
“I’m a growing boy.” Clark teased, cheeky grin on his face at Bruce’s unimpressed look.
“You are almost thirty,” Bruce said dryily. “And six-foot-five. Grow any further and you may become the eighth wonder of the world.”
“Aw, Chucks, B.” Clark shyly kicked his foot along the carpet, throwing Bruce a dimpled smile. “You really think people would line up around the block just to see me.”
“You truly turn any insult into a compliment. I could throw a brick at your head and you’d thank me for helping you build a house.” Bruce scoffed, shaking his head as Clark laughed again. “Also, you’re Superman, don’t act like people don’t already gawk at your mere presence.”
“You’re so cranky today,” Clark chided, stepping in closer to Bruce. At the warning growl the Bat emitted, Clark stop a foot away from him. “Right, personal space. My bad.”
“Let’s just go get you some food,” Bruce said through gritted teeth. “It seems like my best bet at keeping your mouth shut for an extended period of time.”
”Oh, come on, B.” Clark whined, throwing an arm around Bruce’s shoulders as he strode toward the door. Undeterred by the couple hundred pound of weight clinging to him, Bruce continued forward. “This is gonna be fun. A team bonding experience. Stop trying to fight it, we’re still gonna end up closer than ever by the time we finish the case.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, biting back the panic in his chest at Clark’s words. Patting down his pocket to make his wallet with the hotel key was there, he sighed. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
* * *
“Again,” Bruce demanded.
Clark groaned, collapsing onto the suite’s sofa. It had been less than an hour since they returned back from grabbing food for Clark’s endless pit of a stomach. They had only just showered and finished grazing at the Cuban sandwiches Clark ordered them from a food truck by the beach, when Bruce decided to drill Clark on their aliases and cover story.
“Cory Elliot. Thirty-two,” Clark narrated back, tone flat as he wiped the last remaining bits of sauce from his hands with a napkin. Bruce watched him unamused, perched across from him on the coffee table. He’d changed into a black tank top and slacks, his pressed grey turtleneck laid across the bed discarded from they returned to the room. Clark watched the steady rise and fall of Bruce’s chest, mesmerised by the rhythm until he heard Bruce’s pointed cough. “Right, sorry. Cod— I mean, Cory. My name is Cory. I live in Star City with my partner Brody Malone. We’ve been together for three years, but things have been tense since I started my new job—”
“What do you do?” Bruce interjected and Clark smirked.
“I fly—”
“Clark!”
“Sorry, sorry— Jeez. You’re no fun. I’m a copyeditor, just started a new role at an independent publisher.”
“What does your partner, Brody, do?” Bruce asked and Clark lounged back on the couch.
“Nothing, he’s a trust fund baby.” Clark smirked, enjoying the irritated kick in Bruce’s jaw. “Relax. He’s a mechanic. Restores classic cars.”
Bruce nodded, leaning back on his forearms. Clark forced his eyes not to track the strain of his muscles as he did so. “And why did you decide to attend the conference?”
“Things have been tense the past few months between us,” Clark said, continuing at Bruce’s expectant look. “We argue a lot more than we used to, and I’m not sure what to do. I had heard about the conference, figured it may help. Brody agreed to come with me because he thought we both might get something out of it.”
“What do you argue about?” Bruce pressed and Clark looked at him blankly.
“We didn’t discuss that…”
Bruce frowned. “You don’t discuss— wait, what do you mean, Clark?”
“You didn’t tell me this part,” Clark explained and Bruce ran a hand down his face in obvious disappointment. “Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was allowed to improvise. You shot down all of my suggestions earlier.”
“My god, I really do have to plan everything,” Bruce muttered, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Okay, I don’t like Star City. I feel isolated from my family.”
“Hey now, I’d never make you move if you’d only have me around.” Clark frowned and Bruce grimaced further.
“You want to start a family and I’m not sure I’m ready?”
“Well, I mean, I just started a new job,” Clark said, fiddling with his hands. “I doubt we have the stability right now to be talking about that.”
“Fuck me, this is ridiculous” Bruce hissed abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair. Catching the shocked look on Clark’s face, Bruce’s eyes took on a predatory look as they narrowed. ”Ah-huh.”
Clark’s brow pinched, confused by Bruce’s smug expression. “‘Ah-huh’ what—”
“How often do you have sex?”
Clark bristled, eyes widening in alarm at Bruce’s blasé tune. “I— jeez B., you can’t just ask me that!”
“Not you.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “Cory, how often do you and Brody have sex?”
“Why are you asking me this?” Clark gaped, staring at Bruce as though he had grown a second head. “There is no way Chapton is going to ask me that? Come on, that cannot be the reason why we’re here.”
Bruce gave him an unimpressed look. “The first question anyone asks when someone brings up the fact that they are having relationship problems is ‘when was the last time you two fucked’?”
Clark grimaced, fighting the urge to cover his ears at Bruce’s crude language. He only stopped himself because he knew it would give Bruce more ammunition to keep making him squirm. “I’m not sure who you are going to for relationship advice, but that has never been on my list of questions.”
“Really? What do you ask, then?” Bruce mused, his expression openly teasing. There was a lilt to his tone Clark rarely heard outside of his presence as Brucie Wayne. It made his skin crawl as much as it made his heart race. He always had trouble reconciling the image of the frowning Bat with Bruce’s smug playboy persona.
Where Batman would sooner fling Superman across the room than do more than shake his hand, Brucie had no qualms about intruding Clark’s personal space to play with his tie as he evaded everyone of Clark’s journalistic questions. At one point Bruce had even taken Clark’s glasses off his face, propping them on his own nose, before suggestive smouldering over the frames to get Clark to stop asking him about the rumored plans for Wayne Enterprise's to renovate the hospital Bruce’s father used to work at.
“‘Do you still love them?’”Clark answered and Bruce frowned.
“What?”
“That’s what I ask,” Clark said. “‘Do you still love them’? And if the answer is yes, then I say the best thing to do is talk to your partner, figure out together what’s going wrong.”
“And if it’s ‘no’?”
“Well, I guess it’s basically the same advice only I’d tell them to sit with themselves and figure out if they want to fall back in love with that person all over again, or if it’s time to save each other from more pain and break up.”
“I will never understand your fixation on emotion,” Bruce muttered, shaking his head. “Alright then, sex is not why we are here, we’ll figure that out later. Though, my question still stands— how often?”
Clark thunked his head on the back of the couch. He thought he had dodged the question. “I don’t know, once a week—”
“Once a week!” Bruce gaped at Clark, who frowned.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You know what, forget it.” Bruce stood up. “This conference is pointless because this relationship is dead in the water. My word no wonder Brody wants to leave you. I was wrong, this is definitely the problem. Once a week.”
”Hey!” Clark said, affronted. “Work has been really stressful for Cory, okay, and this is not helping.”
“Sex is the best kind of stress relief,” Bruce argued and Clark rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe— do you actually think that’s normal?”
“I don’t get why this is such an issue,” Clark said, growing more embarrassed as Bruce stared down at him. He had never felt more under a microscope than in that moment. And that included every time Bruce had stuck him with a kryptonite needle to study his blood. “Not everyone enjoys jumping in and out of people’s beds every night.”
“It’s not every night.” Bruce rolled his eyes, a playful expression back on his face as he sat back down. Resting back on his hands, he relaxed his thighs on the wood almost suggestively as he threw Clark a smirk. “Just most nights, excluding Sunday. That one is purely for God, though I’m sure he’d enjoy watching.”
“You’re such a menace,” Clark said, shaking his head in fondness as his embarrassment started to fade. “Okay, I’ll up it to twice a week because if you fussed this much over it, I do not want to be stuck talking about it with other people when they ask us what’s wrong.”
“Nope, we’ve found the problem. This is why I want to leave you,” Bruce replied, feigned distress in his tone. “I’m living in deprivation.”
“Oh my gosh— B., you can’t be serious,” Clark said, exasperated. “Surely you can handle a persona whose life doesn’t revolve around sex.”
“I can, but why should I?” Bruce pouted, honest to God pouted. Clark stared back in awe. “Though perhaps I could use your impotence as a way to lure Chapton. I hear he has a thing for lonely brunets…”
“Okay, fine!” Clark snapped, ignoring Bruce’s pleased look. “We’ll have sex more often. Three times a week.”
“It reflects poorly on me if we aren’t having sex, Cory,” Bruce tutted, eyes gleaming in amusement as he watched Clark squirm. “I’ll begin to lose my market value, and I really can’t have that.”
“Market value?” Clark huffed. “You’re meant to be off the market, B.”
“I don’t know,” Bruce drawled, shifting a bored glance to his hand as he pretended to study his nails. “I’m starting to see more and more flaws in this relationship. Maybe we should call it off now, go to the conference single and to work out how not to fuck up the next one.”
“No!” Clark shouted, startling both himself and Bruce. He cleared his throat. “No,” he repeated, calmer. “You need more attention, I’ve been too distracted with my new job to give it to you. We’re here to work on that.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you sounded awfully upset at the idea of me leaving you,” Bruce said, his voice a purr as his gaze flickered over Clark. “One might even say jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Clark said, thrown by Bruce’s accusation. “I just don’t want you to break up with me because I don’t show you enough how much I want you. I do want you. And I know I can satisfy you better than anyone else, not that anyone else deserves to touch you, I just—” At the stunned look that flickered across Bruce’s face, Clark stopped himself. His eyes grew wide as he cycled back through everything he just said and he stammered. “I— I mean, Cory doesn’t want Brody to break up with him, especially not over a lacking sex life.”
“Hm.” Slowly, the surprise in Bruce’s expression faded, turning smug again as he sat up on the table. Though his posture was leisured, his eyes stayed sharp. He was pleased about something, clearly having been fishing and happy with whatever it was he had caught. Clark couldn’t tell what was running through Bruce’s mind but he assumed it wasn’t good when a broad, almost feral grin broke across Bruce’s face. “My, my… Possessiveness sure does look good on you, Cory.”
“Hey now, I’m not… that wasn’t what I meant,” Clark tried to explain, already feeling the hole he had dug himself into deepen. “You just threw me off and I guess my cover’s persona took over.”
“I see,” Bruce said and Clark squirmed, feeling small. He was a mouse, trapped under Bruce’s paw, and unsure if he was going to be let free with a warning or devoured whole. Slowly, as if testing a startled calf, Bruce slipped off the table and Clark watched, frozen, as he settled himself onto Clark’s lap. Lazily, Bruce draped his arms around Clark’s neck and sighed. Using his body weight, Bruce sunk Clark into the back of the couch. “Now, what are we going to do with you?”
“I— I don’t know what you mean?” Clark considered pinching himself. Had they entered an alternate dimension after walking back through the hotel lobby? Had his food been laced with magic? What was he missing? Nothing was making sense anymore.
“Well,” Bruce began. He dragged a hand from behind Clark’s neck to trail its fingers down the buttons of his shirt. A gentle curve feel across Bruce’s lips and Clark couldn’t pull his eyes away from them, nor the way the soft pink darkened as Bruce ran his tongue along them. “Apparently you won’t fuck me, but also hate the idea of someone else being with me. It’s quite the conundrum. You say no one else can touch me, yet you don’t touch me at all? There’s a lot of mixed messages you’re giving, Cory.”
Clark let out a whimper when Bruce popped open the top button of his shirt. Suddenly Bruce’s tongue was dragging down his skin, sucking soft bruises onto him that faded instantly. Without thinking, Clark drifted his hands over Bruce’s thighs, feeling the powerful muscles there before settling on the curve of his ass.
When Bruce rutted against him in reply, Clark ducked his head until his mouth met Bruce’s. Bruce tasted better than he imagined, his lips slackening so that Clark could run his tongue over every inch of his mouth. When Bruce had finished unbuttoning Clark’s shirt, he ran his nails down his chest and kissed him one last time, hard enough to leave stars dancing behind Clark’s eyes.
“Do you want me?” Bruce panted out, lips brushing Clark’s with every word. Clark nodded, frantic and Bruce grinned. He rolled his hips down, back arching as he felt the thick line of Clark’s cock against him. “Say it.”
“I want you.” Clark moaned, sliding his hand down the back of Bruce’s pants. He toyed with the waistband of his briefs then ducked below to the stretch of hot, flushed skin. When Bruce tipped forward to lean his chest along Clark’s, mouth pressed to the curve of his ear, he guided a finger inside of him. Clark’s eyes fell shut as Bruce gasped in his ear, the sound as heavenly as the tight heat he was sliding into. “Gosh, B. You’re so tight.”
“Won’t be after you’re done with me,” Bruce smirked with a dark chuckle, tongue flicking at the shell of his ear. He let out keening whimper as Clark began to slowly pump his fingers in and out of Bruce’s hole. “You’re such a tease, Kal. Playing with me like this when I can feel how hard you are, how badly you want to fuck me right now. Just do it, I want you to.”
“The mouth on you, B.” Clark groaned, hips bucking up as he curled his finger inside of Bruce. He slipped in a second finger, fighting not come as he heard Bruce choke back a strangled moan. “You kept that up and I’m not going to last much longer.”
“I can’t help it,” Bruce said, slick tongue now working down Clark’s neck. His breath hitched when Clark pulled his fingers free, gently stroking them over his relaxed hole. When he pulled at Bruce’s rim gently, Bruce hummed and rocked back into his touch. “I bet your mouth would feel amazing opening me up.”
Clark’s hips stuttered at the image that flashed through his head. Of Bruce on his back, thighs clamped around Clark’s face as he drove his tongue deep into him. Bruce on all fours, burying his screams into the mattress as Clark gripped his hips into place and ran the flat of his tongue over his sloppy hole. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to have Bruce ride his face, hands gripping the headboard as he controlled the pleasure he took from Clark.
“Oh.” Bruce drew back, a feral grin on his face as his eyes flicked over Clark. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“Well, I— I mean, yeah, I would—” Clark’s words were cut off when Bruce pulled him in for a messy kiss. He moaned as Bruce’s teeth nipped at his bottom lip, his hands fumbled for the fly of Clark’s jeans. Soon Bruce’s warm, calloused hand wrapped around Clark’s cock, slowly pumping it inside his jeans.
“How bad do you want me?” Bruce demanded, hand gliding up and over to the dripping head of Clark’s cock. He flicked his thumb at the slit, pleased as Clark melted into the couch. He was so close.
“So bad, I want you so bad,” Clark promised, breath picking up as Bruce began to stroke him faster. He trembled as Bruce squeezed the base of his cock with each down stroke, flicking his wrist just so when he reached the tip. Clark pulled him into a frantic kiss, biting at his lip as he sunk his fingers back into his inviting ass.
“Only want you. I’ve always wanted just you, Bruce— Oh, fuck.” Clark let out a punched groan, mouth slackening against Bruce’s as he came, sticky heat filling the inside of his pants. Bruce chuckled, slowly drawing his hand free. Breaking away from Clark’s lips, he raised his soiled hand to his mouth and licked each finger clean. Locking eyes with Clark, Bruce winked before grabbing his chin with his wet hand.
“Always wanted me, huh?” He mused, sliding the tip of his finger into Clark’s mouth. He hummed as Clark’s lips closed around it. “I guess we’ll just have to see how true that is when you wake up.”
With that, Bruce vanished. The heat of his body against Clark was gone and he gasped when everything around him faded to nothing but darkness. He could feel his heart racing, eyes twitching, and then suddenly he was gasping for air. Bolting upright, Clark’s eyes sprung open.
Clark held a hand to his chest, feeling its rapid beats as the world came back into focus.
He was in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist and legs. A pillow was oddly strewn at his side, as though flung from his grasp when he woke up. He flushed when he realized it was Bruce’s, the familiar scent of his shampoo wafting when Clark moved to discretely place it back against the headboard on the other side of the bed.
Across the room Bruce sat at the suite’s desk, hunched over his tablet with a pair of headphones over his ears as he listened to the recordings of Chapton’s room. As Clark ran a shaking hand through his hair, Bruce glanced over at him. His face shifted from mildly puzzled to concerned as he took in the sight of Clark.
“Everything alright?” He asked, frowning as he paused the recording and set his headphones down. “You were tossing and turning all night.”
“I’m fine.” Clark blinked hazily, unsure he heard Bruce correctly. All night? He looked toward the open curtains, surprised to see it was light out. He had been so sure he’d only been out long enough to nap. “I guess I just had a rough… night’s sleep.”
“Hm.” Bruce stood, dressed in a grey turtle neck and black slacks. Clark’s mouth dried, mind flashing with images of Bruce in his lap, hands on his skin, come in his mouth. “Well, it’s time for you to get ready anyway, your continental breakfast closes in an hour.”
Clark twisted to look at the clock on the wall, surprised to find it was nearly two in the afternoon. “Oh, I didn’t realize I’d slept in so long!”
Bruce watched as Clark shuffled off the bed, taking in the awkward flush of his cheeks and almost curled posture. When Clark spun to face away from him as soon as he slipped off the mattress’s edge, he frowned. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Everything’s just peachy, B.!” Clark exclaimed, already making it to the bathroom. When he emerged, showered and slightly less erractic, moments later Bruce’s frown hadn’t faded. He winced as a rush of wind waved over him, eyes squinting as Clark stilled in front of hik, dressed for the day. At Bruce’s disdained look at the towel carelessly ababdoned on the bed, Clark flushed before speeding it back onto its rightful place on the towel rack. “Breakfast?”
“Breakfast.” Bruce nodded, eyeing Clark suscpiously. Ensuring he had the room key, he beckoned Clark down the hall and into the elevator.
“I’ve never needed a cup of coffee more than I do right now,” Clark said, rubbing at his eyes. He nearly flinched at the cautious hand Bruce placed on his shoulder. “Maybe three.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bruce asked and Clark tried not to melt when his head listed to the side, eyes bright with concern. “You seem a bit off, Kal.”
Warmth rushed through Clark at the sound of his birth name coming from Bruce’s lips. He fought back an adoring grin as he nodded, ruffling a hand through his hair. He never did get used to hearing Bruce call him Kal, it was usually reserved for private moments.
Where Diana said it so freely every time they interacted, Bruce only said it with purpose. It made him feel like where Clark was a friend, Kal was something more— something private Bruce only allowed himself to acknowledge sparingly. He never felt like the two sides of his life were split to Bruce, but rather that the other man saw the whole of him as something sacred, something fragile. Or even something he was afraid to allow himself to have, no matter how much Clark tried to make him see he could.
“I’m okay, Bruce, really,” He finally replied, offering a gentle squeeze to the other man’s hand before withdrawing. A small frown broke across his lips as he remembered why they were walking through the hotel’s dining room in the first place. When his eyes feel on Chapton, seated with an adoring couple seeming to hang on every word he said, Clark bit his lip. “We should probably go over our cover story when we get back. He seems busy now, but we should make sure everything is smoothed out before we bump into Chapton.”
“What are you talking about?” Bruce tilted his head, brow furrowing as he walked toward the buffet tucked away to the side of the room. Over his shoulder, he saw Clark’s expectant expression and let out a huffed chuckle. “We already did.”
* * *
Clark was, for lack of a better term, tweaking. His skin was crawling and every time Bruce glanced at him during breakfast had him flinching.
“What are you talking about… We already did?”
The words played over and over in his head in a distorted loop. For a moment, he thought Clark thought he’d misheard Bruce. Yet his mind put a halt to such thoughts immediately. Bruce’s words were cutting, scratching at his skin in a way that left a violent blush down to the base of his neck. There was no mistaking what he said, not the implication there.
Still, Clark couldn’t figure out if what had happened between them was just a dream, or an experience so good it had him blacking out till morning. And for someone with an eidetic memory, it was killing him not knowing how much was really and how much was an unexpected fantasy. Because while Clark wasn’t that much in denial about his less than friendly feelings for Bruce, he had never had such primal thoughts about his best friend.
The worst he had ever let his mind hope for was a little handholding. Maybe a kiss to the forehead, some soulful looking into each others eyes at the most. Though now that he thought knew what having Bruce’s mouth on his would reduce him to, even if just in his imagination, trying to convince himself he’d been fine with just liking Bruce in his head was getting harder to do. Especially when Bruce leaned over to grasp his hand.
The quiet gasp that left his mouth earned him a displeased look from the Bat. “What is wrong with you today?”
“Nothing, sorry!” Clark assured, grabbing his glass of orange juice. He tried to calm down his breathing as Bruce’s hand slipped away from his own. “Like I said, bad sleep and weird dreams. It’ll pass, don’t worry.”
“If you say so,” Bruce muttered, lips barely moving as his eyes roamed the dining room. Suddenly he froze, a determined look in his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
As Bruce left their table, Clark glanced over his shoulder to catch in time Bruce’s slick bump into Chapton. Soon enough, the pair was talking. Clark sighed, turning back and grabbing a piece of buttered toast from his plate. He reminded himself they were there for a reason— it was a mission, not a romantic getaway. He put the toast down, bitter. It tastes like cardboard in his mouth anyway.
By the time Bruce returned, Clark was ready to leave even though half of his plates were still stocked with food.
“I think the sandwiches last night has left me a little queasy,” He said and Bruce shrugged, tipping back the last of his coffee. “Find out anything from Chapton.”
“Not really,” Bruce said, setting his cup down as he rose to his feet. “Just that he’s a little handsy, though that’s unsurprising. He looks forward to talking more after the conference. He seems to be very interested in hearing more about our tumultuous relationship.”
“Well Cory isn’t very pleased that his partner threw him to the dog’s the second he was left alone,” Clark sniped back, more bitterly than he expected.
“Cory…” Bruce arched a brow, repeating the name to himself slowly as he carefully roamed his eyes over Clark’s surprisingly stormy expression. “Well… it sure seems like Cory woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and needs to get his shit together or else this week is going to be a lost cause.”
The warning was clear in Bruce’s tone, enough to have Clark looking down sheepishly before getting to his feet. As they walked to the elevator doors, Clark pinched his nose and sighed. “Cory needs a nap.”
“Cory needs cognitive behavioral therapy,” Bruce murmured, pushing the elevator’s button. “And to stop talking in the third person, it’s disturbing.”
“Sorry.” Clark sighed, watching as the doors sprung open. He caught sight of his exhausted face in the mirror on the elevator shaft’s back wall and grimaced
Bruce clicked his tongue, slowly sweeping his gaze over to Clark, unimpressed. “Just get in before I kick your ass through the doors myself.”
“Yes, dear,” he grounded out, thankful to have gotten a mild chuckle from the Bat. He couldn’t wait to fall face first back into bed. Hopefully without any compromising dreams joining him in the sheets.
* * *
“I think we should go over our cover story,” Clark blurted out, drawing Bruce’s gaze away from the book he’d been turning through for the past hour. The recorded voice of Chapton had been playing on loop aloud since they returned from breakfast, quickly killing any hope Clark had at taking a power nap to quell his sullen mood. Bruce had been intent on making sure he finished the previous night’s recording, wanting to ensure nothing important had been missed.
“Like I said,” Bruce drawled, returning back to his book after glaring at Clark’s interruption. “We’ve already gone over it.”
Clark’s heart stuttered. “Well, I forgot. Could you remind me?”
“You told me when we landed that you read my brief during our flight, Clark.” Bruce glowered at him, finally snapping his book shut. “Was that a lie?”
So that’s what Bruce had been referring to. Clark’s shoulders dropped in relief as he cast his mind back to the flight. After the captain’s announcement that seatbelts could be safely unbuckled, Bruce had leaned over to the armrest and pressed his lips to Clark’s ear.
“Did you download the brief I sent you last night? I suspect you didn’t read it then and it’s imperative we have our story straight before the conference. I recommend you read it now while we don’t have any distractions.”
“Relax, B. I read it,” Clark bluffed, throwing the other man a lazy smile. When Bruce pulled back there was an annoyed frown on his face. Clark’s smile faltered.
“No, you didn’t, because I never emailed you a brief. That would have been extremely reckless of me to do,” Bruce chastized. Blankly, he took his tablet off his lap and placed it in Clark’s. “I cannot believe you tried to lie to me.”
Clark offered him a sheepish grin. “Guess the habit of trying to get out of doing my homework never died.”
Bruce sighed, but Clark silently cheered at the fondness that lit up his face after his eye roll. “Just read the brief, Kal.”
In the present, Clark groaned and rubbed the back of his neck when met by Bruce’s unimpressed expression.
“I may have skimmed it?” He tried, wincing at the flat look on the Bat’s face.
“You need to take these situations more seriously.” Bruce let out a huffed chuckle. It was the same one as earlier in the morning.
Clark’s heart sunk at the sound.
Earlier he had misread it as amused, now he recognized the mirth in Bruce’s tone.
“I’m sorry, B.”
“Your laziness is going to be your downfall on day, Kal.” Bruce sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He missed the adoring look Clark shot him at hearing his birth name again. “We can go over it now. Come on. Let’s sit on the couch.”
“The couch?!” Clark froze at Bruce’s words. At Bruce’s cocked brow, Clark gritted out an awkward half-baked explanation. “Just, why there?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Bruce stared at him, incredulous. “Maybe because it is a common place for people to interact? To have discussions at? Or would you rather stand in the closet for this— or maybe the bathtub instead?”
“No, no I just meant, can’t we sit somewhere else? Like maybe—” Clark glanced around the room, desperate and painfully avoiding the confuddled look on Bruce’s face. The only other option in the room was, “— the bed?”
“I did not expect you to take the cover part of our story so literally,” Bruce deadpanned and Clark bit back a groan.
“No, never mind. Ignore me.” Clark waved him off, getting out of the bed. He pretended not to notice the swift, analytical gaze of Bruce’s eyes on him as he moved. “Couch is good.”
“Hn.” Bruce grunted, joining him on the couch. He left an entire cushion between them, as though distancing himself from some disease clinging to Clark. Clark wished he was ill, maybe that could explain his insane behavior and vividly inappropriate dreams. He fought to keep his eyes from the coffee table, from remembering the perfect image of Bruce’s toned thighs sat on the wooden surface. How they felt under his hands.
“Get a grip,” Clark muttered to himself, jumping at the agreeable hum Bruce let out.
“Well, firstly, it seems you’ve created an alias all on your own,” Bruce said, fingers steepled as he glanced at Clark. “I’m assuming you’ve come up with more than a name and soured personality for your cover, Cory.”
“I don’t really know where that came from.” Clark rubbed a sheepish hand over the back of his neck, shoulders rolling in on themselves at Bruce’s annoyed huff. “I figured something not too far off my own name might make it easier to stay in the role.”
“I suppose you expect me to call myself Brian or something then.” Bruce’s lips flattened. “I’m not sure I like the ring of that— Brian Malone.”
“How about Brody?”
Bruce’s expression soured. He all but spat the name back at Clark, an incredulous look in his eyes. “My god, I am never working an undercover case with you again. Dear God, Kal. How can someone who already has three monikers come up with something as second rate as Brody.“
Bruce was on his feet a moment later, rifling through the bar. Pouring himself a glass of dark liquor, he scowled at Clark over the rim. “Brody. Go fuck yourself, Kal.”
“I’m sorry! Jeez, I didn’t think a name could offend you so much, B.”
“Just— B. will work, an easy going nickname that leaves enough room for others to filter in a name as they see fit,” Bruce murmurred, lowering the glass after a slow, long sip. He offered the glass an appraising look, rejoining Clark on the couch. “We’ve been together for three years, both with busy schedules and concerned the spark is dying. Keep it simple, neat, and vague enough that it limits the amount of invasive questions people can ask.”
“What’s my job?” Clark asked, watching the way Bruce’s thumb lightly awiped at the condensation on his glass.
“I don’t know, pick something. Be an astronaut for all I care.”
Clark’s breath caught in his throat at Bruce’s flippant remark.
“I fly—” his mind dangerous supplied a flashing image of his dream. Bruce’s seductive eyes, warm body against his own. The roughness of his hands on Clark’s—
“Oh-kay!” Clark exclaimed, clapping his hands together with a harsh enough echo to make Bruce wince. “I’m in publishing, that’s not too far from what I actually do, I guess. And you, Bro— B.— what do you do?”
“Murders and executions.”
Clark blinked, eyes widening as he took in Bruce’s bored looked. “I’m sorry, what?”
Bruce’s lips pinched together, a tight knot forming in his brow as he tilted his head. He squinted at Clark for a moment, appearing concerned. “I said I worked in mergers and acquisitions. Kal, what’s going on? You’ve been spacey all day.”
“It must be the Miami air, the humidity is getting to me,” Clark bluffed, ignoring the assessing look Bruce gave him. He plucked at the back of the couch, toying with the cushion’s seams as Bruce mulled something over.
“I assume some level of physical contact will be required of us when attending the post-conference social,” Bruce said, eyes heavy on the side of Clark’s face. When Clark finally turned to look at him, Bruce shuffled a hair closer to him. “Limited PDA will be acceptable for the cover, but I think we should use tonight as a way to get used to the level of closeness most couples have, even when in conflict.”
Clark swallowed hard, fighting to keep his face neutral as Bruce awaited his input. “Okay, and how will we do that?”
“Well, for starters, stop jumping every time I do so little as place my hand over yours,” Bruce said, deadpan. “No one will believe we were ever dating let alone trying to salvage a failing relationship if you recoil from me like that.”
“I didn’t recoil.” Clark gaped back at Bruce. “I was just thinking about something and you startled me.”
“Hn.” Bruce grunted, not buying a word of it. “Well, next time I ‘startle’ you,” Bruce continued and Clark couldn’t help but smile at his use of air quotes, “Lean into my touch instead of away from it.”
“Right, sorry.” Clark nodded. He was confused when Bruce moved closer on the couch, leisurely throwing an arm over the back cushion. “The floor is lava, not your hand.”
“Funny.” Bruce glared, tapping the cushion in thought. “You’re already a hugger, so there is no need to work on that beyond my own aversion to such acts…”
“You’ve gotten better about it” Clark chimed in, blushing at Bruce’s wincing expression. “I think the last time we hugged, you managed two solid pats to my shoulder before prying me off you. Progress!”
“Yes, though I don’t think we’ll need to do any of that tomorrow,” Bruce said, slowing his tapping to a halt. Gently, he roamed his fingers along the leather until they just brushed Clark’s shoulder. “Leaves us with only one other obstacle.”
“Really?” Clark cocked a brow, a wry grin passing over his lips. “We’ve got the pet names down to a t, darling. Though you may need to stop gritting your teeth when you respond back.”
“It’s perfectly normal to find such platitudes grating when you’re on the rocks with your partner,” Bruce said, sidestepping. “No. I need you to kiss me.”
Clark’s mind blacked out, a sharp hiss emitting in both ears before he was slammed back to earth. “Excuse me?”
“We’ve never engaged in such intimate contact,” Bruce began and Clark desperately cleared his brain of the running play by play it ran of his dream. He glanced at Bruce’s mouth, remembering how hot and wet and real it had felt that night against his own. Now, they were slightly chapped and a dull pink that matched the tips of his ears as he went on speaking. “I would rather get it over with now to save any potential risks of blowing our cover. The more natural it appears to others, the more likely we’ll be able to build trust in Chapton.”
“Okay.” Clark nodded, dumbly. He could hear his heart beating in his ears as Bruce stared back at him expectantly. Leaning forward, he pressed a perfunctory kiss to Bruce’s cheek then immediately drew back. At Bruce’s stunned looked, he frowned. “What?”
“What the fuck was that, Clark?”
Clark stammered for a moment, brow pinching. “You said to kiss you?”
“Well, yes— but not like you’re greeting your grandmother,” Bruce said, exasperated as he dragged a hand over his face. “I’m starting to doubt that you’ve ever been in a relationship. This is ridiculous.”
“I’ve dated!” Clark protested, blush expanding to his neck. “You’re just being mean now.”
“Then kiss me like a normal person,” Bruce said, tone sharp. Clark felt his eyes widen, unsure what to do.
“That was normal!” Clark huffed, watching as Bruce dragged his hand off the back of the couch and into his lap. “I kiss my partner’s like that all the time. It’s the best way to show appropriate affection while in public.”
“This is absurd.” Bruce scoffed, shuffling closer. Their thighs grazed, a solid like of heat that had Clark biting back a groan. Clark attempted to move back, almost falling off the couch as a result, catching himself at the last second on the edge of the armrest. Bruce rolled his eyes, threading his fingers into the collar of Clark’s shirt to reel him in closer. “Really, Clark? How are we meant to sell ourselves as a couple if you run any time I touch you?”
“Well technically we’re a couple on the brink,” Clark said. He could feel his blush spreading down to his chest. Bruce’s face was less than an inch from his own. He could count every lash that lined his eyes, the light dusting of freckles his cheeks. Clark swallowed, mouth growing dry. “No one would be surprised if we avoided touching each other as much as possible — much less if we don’t kiss at all.”
“Just kiss me,” Bruce ordered and Clark yelped at the tug of his shirt. “Properly. On the mouth. Like a normal boyfriend.”
“I can’t!” He stammered, eyes frantically darting the room as Bruce’s own turned stormy.
“Why the hell not?” There was something strange in Bruce’s tone, Clark couldn’t quite put his finger on it but it made the anxiety following through him grow in size.
“You’re my best friend,” He said, knowing the response was a weak one.
Bruce rolled his eyes. “So is Diana, and you’ve kissed her. Many times.”
“Yeah but that was for an intergalatic— wait, how do you know it was more than once?” Clark gaped and Bruce smirked.
“I didn’t. I suspected it but you confirmed it.” Bruce shrugged. “I don’t understand the problem. Is it because I’m a man?”
“What? No! I’ve kissed men before— lots of them,” Clark protested. He tried to stop himself but the words kept coming out. “I even had a boyfriend in college. Well, I considered him my boyfriend. I think he was more interested in the sexual side of our—”
“Clark.” Bruce cut in and Clark clicked his jaw shut. He could feel the blood pulsing in his cheeks. “Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
“So, it’s not because I’m a man,” Bruce said, slowly. “And you knew we were here under the guise of being a couple? I do not understand your hesitation.”
“Well, I’m— You see it’s— Oh, gosh, uhm, I—” am in love with you and if we kiss and it means nothing it will kill me inside, Clark’s brain helpfully filled in the blanks. He groaned, tipping his head to the side until it landed on Bruce’s shoulder. He felt the muscle tense then relax, Bruce’s grip on his shirt slackening.
“Is it Lois?” Bruce asked, voice small.
Clark shot up right, mouth opening in surprise. “What? Why would you think that?”
“You’ve liked her for a long time,” Bruce drawled, face set in feigned disinterest but his sharp eyes gave him away. He was searching for something.
“I do not like Lois,” Clark snapped. He was tired of that rumor and thought it had died by now. “I mean, she’s one of my closest’s friends, for sure, but I don’t like her like that.”
Bruce hummed, head tilting in the curious way Clark adored. A stray piece of hair fell out of its gelled position, dusting across his forehead. Clark ached to reach out, brush it back in place. He clenched his fists instead.
“Do you find me unattractive?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Clark blinked.
“Is that the issue?” Bruce asked, slowly tilting his head back upright. “That you can’t kiss me because you find me unattractive.”
“Bruce, don’t be ridiculous.” Clark scoffed, gnawing at the edge of his lip as Bruce continued to study him. “Now you’re just messing with me.”
“I promise you I’m not,” Bruce said, letting go of Clark entirely. Drawing to his feet, Bruce sighed and began to walk to the bar. “I understand we’re friends, but I do appreciate honesty above all else. I wouldn’t be hurt if you thought that.”
But he was hurt. Clark could hear it under his carefully measured tone, in the way his feet all but dragged themselves across the room. Standing up, Clark scrambled to Bruce’s side. Grabbing his arm, Clark turned him towards him and sighed.
“No, look I’m sorry. That’s what this is about,” He started, heartbreaking at the shuttered look on Bruce’s face.
“It’s fine,” He said, tersely. “We can just forget about it. I can just set up recording devices in the room before the conference starts and try to catch Chapton in the lobby once it’s done. It’s fi—”
Not wanting to hear Bruce’s dismissal again, Clark surged forward. He reached one hand to Bruce’s jaw, angling the man into a kiss that was more bruising than he intended. The moment he felt Bruce’s lips on his own, parted out of shock, a small shuddered ran down his spine. His mouth was warm, chapped around the edges from the hotel’s aircon and he tasted like the bitter coffee they got for a kiosk earlier.
Slowly he pressed closer until Bruce’s chest was against his own and he could feel the startled race of his heartbeat. Clark felt Bruce’s fingers thread in his hair, his mouth finally moving against Clark’s own and it no longer felt awkward to slide his tongue over Bruce’s top lip. It was only when he heard a soft moan escape his mouth that Clark pulled back, flushing with embarrassment.
“I… I, uh, like kissing,” He half-lied. “That’s why I hesitated. I was worried I’d enjoy it too much and forget I was kissing you.”
“I see.” The light blush on Bruce’s face stayed in place but his eyes grew cold. Clark had done something wrong. He searched Bruce’s face for any signs of what it was and tried not to lean back into Bruce’s touch when he made to pull his hands away from Clark’s hair. “I’m going to take a walk around the block. See if I can run into Chapton. There’s a bar around the corner, he might be there since his room is empty.”
“I’ll come with—”
“No!”
Clark jumped at the volume of Bruce’s protested. He watched as Bruce ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Just stay here. Please.”
“Okay.” Stepping back, Clark watched as Bruce gathered up his phone and wallet. Checking that the hotel’s key card was inside, he left the suite without a second look back. Clark was surprised that when he went to breathe out, his nose sniffled. He was even more alarmed to find that he had begun to cry.
* * *
Bruce didn’t return until the next morning. Without a word, he slid into the seat across from Clark in the dining room. A plate filled with fruit and a cup of coffee was all he took from the breakfast buffet. The six plates of food sat before Clark looked ridiculous in comparison. Gnawing on a strip of bacon, Clark nervously watched as Bruce pulled off his sunglasses. His eyes were bloodshot, hands shaking as he placed them on the table.
“Everything okay?” He hedged, knowing that if he asked why Bruce didn’t come back last night he’d get his ear chewed off.
“Yes,” Bruce said, taking hold of his coffee cup slowly. “Though it seems I still do not handle gin well.”
“Maybe you should lie down?” Clark offered, ignoring Bruce’s flat look. “We still have a few hours before the conference.”
“I do not require sleep.” Bruce frowned down at his coffee. “I am perfectly fine.”
“If you say so.” Clark shrugged, stabbing at his plate of scrambled eggs. He considered taking a bite out of his french toast instead, but figured he’d save the sweet plates for last. “The mattress in the suite is wonderful. I think it straightened out a kink in my back I didn’t even know I had.”
“Yes, the bed’s here are very… therapeutic,” Bruce said, chuckling at Clark’s lost expression. “Are you really going to eat all that?”
“Had a busy night, need to fuel up.” Clark shrugged. “Flash flood in Costa Rica. A couple fires in downtown Metropolis. Then Barry needed help in Central City. I’m surprised I managed to get a few hours of sleep by the end of it.”
Bruce frowned, taking a sip of his coffee. “You should have told me, I could have sent the plane and helped.”
Clark waved him off. “You were busy.”
I know I upset you, but I don’t know how lingered in his reply. Bruce merely huffed, swallowing his mouthful of coffee with bitterness.
“Did you want to go to the beach before the conference?” Clark asked suddenly. At the curious arch in Bruce’s brow, he continued. “It’ll only take a minute or so, I think there’s a market going on nearby. Might be nice?”
“What, come on!” Clark exclaimed, nudging a plate of eggs benedict at Bruce. When Bruce doubled glanced at it, Clark smiled and slid over another set of cutlery. “I know you’re gonna lock yourself up in the hotel all day otherwise trying to get the drop on Chapton. At least get a tan with me before you do so.”
“I don’t tan,” Bruce said and Clark rolled his eyes.
“Then brood in the shade with a book while I do,” He countered. “I’d appreciate the company.”
Bruce looked down at his proffed plate, slowly picking up the cutlery. He sliced open his poached eggs and gently pried off a forkful of salmon, spinach, and muffin alongside it. When he glanced up, fork halfway to his mouth, he found Clark staring at him with a pleased expeession. He flushed.
“Don’t watch me while I eat,” he murmured, tucking his chin as he chewed. “It’s rude.”
“Sorry!” Clark grinned, tucking his chin over his fist as his free hand rounded up the last of his eggs onto his fork. “It’s just nice, seeing you eating something that isn’t force fed to you by Alfred.”
Bruce scoffed, but Clark took his lack of verbal response as a good thing. Every now and again, Clark would look over and watch Bruce pick at his food until the plate was empty. As he made a start on his second plate of french toast, he smiled when Bruce sneaked his fork onto the plate to steal a piece of caramelized banana. He made a point not to look up as he pushed the plate closer to the middle of the table and kept eating. Eventually Bruce’s cutlery joined his, breaking up the final pieces of bread. He knocked his ankle against Bruce’s, trying not to preen at the nudge he got back.
“We can go to the beach,” Bruce said after sometime and Clark grinned. He pointedly pressed a finger to Clark’s forehead, reminding him to settle down. “Two hours. Then back to the hotel for retcon. And no Hawaiian shirts at the conference, dress nicely.”
“Aw, man.” Clark pouted. “I had this really cool one with tigers on it I was going to wear.”
Bruce eye twitched. “No. Hawaiian. Shirts.”
Clark sighed, pushing away from the table. Their plates were empty and it was nearly ten in the morning. “Fine. I’ll wear it at the beach.”
He ignored Bruce’s answering groan, smiling to himself as they made their way back to the suite. Clark changed quickly as Bruce took a shower. As he wrestled the final button of his shirt through its hole, Bruce emerged from the bathroom with a gust of steam trailing behind him.
“I’ll have to buy some swim trunk when we get there,” He muttered behind Clark’s back.
“Oh, don’t worry about it— I packed spares.” Digging into his carry-on, Clark pulled loss a pair of navy trunks and turned to hand them over to Bruce. He faltered at the sight of Bruce stood before him, naked expect for a hastily tied towel around his hips. His skin was still damp, droplets of water clinging to the lines of his torso and outlining the array of scars across his body. Aware of his jaws position on the floor, Clark pulled himself together enough to offer a strained smile as Bruce took the trunks with an amused look.
“You may want to turn around, won’t want you to go into cardiac arrest at the sight of my ass,” Bruce teased and Clark huffed.
“You’re not funny,” Clark muttered, but did just that.
“I know,” Bruce replied. “I’m Batman.”
“Oh my Go— Just get dressed so I can fly us already, jeez.” Clark ran a hand down his face as Bruce laughed.
Once Bruce was ready, Clark led them to the rooftop. Checking the coast was clear, he lifted Bruce into his arms, ignoring protests at the bridal carry position he’d put Bruce in, and flew them to the shadowed part of a parking lot near the beach. Waiting until Bruce got his equilibrium back, the pair soon trekked their way to the beach.
Laying a blanket down on the sand, Bruce stiffly sat down as Clark dumped an array of items onto his side of the blanket. Tubes of sunscreen, a couple beaten up paperbacks, and a whistle greeted Bruce. He picked up the whistle, frowning.
“What’s this for?”
“When I’m in the water,” Clark answered, dropping down on the empty part of the blanket. “I’ll blow it when I’ve started swimming further out so you’ll know where to look.”
“Bold of you to assumed I’d be looking.” Bruce muttered, handing Clark the whistle.
“Come on, B.,” He pouted and Bruce grunted. “I want to you to time how long I can hold my breath under water.”
“Nine hours and fourteen seconds.” Was Bruce’s immediate response. At Clark’s surprised expression he frowned. “I’ve times you before. When Luthor had you tied to the bottom of the ocean. It took nine hours and fourteen minutes to find you.”
“You’re amazing, B.” Clark grinned and Bruce grimaced at the hug he was pulled into.
Pushing Clark away, Bruce straightened his shirt and frowned. “Go drown in the ocean already.”
“Love you too, B.” Clark chuckled, standing up. Bruce squinted against the sun as Clark kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his eyesore of a shirt. He fought back the urge to gap as inch after inch of chiseled golden skin was exposed. Bruce squawked when Clark threw the shirt at his face. “I’ll be back soon, try not to burn.”
“Very funny.” Bruce glared, earning a pair of shorts to the face as Clark finished stripping and raced to the water. He dragged the offending clothing off of himself and settled against the blanket with one of Clark’s books. “I hope you get tangled in seaweed and pulled to the bottom of the ocean again.”
“I heard that!” Clark’s voice echoed, even as his figure appeared as a mere spec to Bruce’s eye. He blushed, staring back at the book.
“Sorry,” he whispered. He turned a page, words blurring together as he fought down the rush of emotions in his chest. Last night had been mortifying, enough so that he ended up drunker than he intended and passed out in the lobby by four in the morning. The crick he’d woken up with was yet to fully dissipate, a reminder that he was too old to act out this way.
Putting his book down, Bruce laid back and stared at the sky. It was a perfect shade of blue, dusted with perfect white clouds, and he frowned. He missed Gotham, with its grey skies and polluted cityscape. His skin itched to be in his suit, to regain some level of control he felt he was losing each moment he spent in Miami with Clark.
Clark.
Bruce scoffed as the name rung in his mind. That was a whole other can of worms he wasn’t ready to tackle. He’d never felt so off kilter before, not when it came to Clark. Bruce always felt like he could read the other man, know what he was thinking before he voiced it himself. Yet now, now he felt like he’d never met the other man.
Something had shifted, and initially he had suspected the shift to be something good. That maybe his hopes for something more were coming to fruition, that there had been an unaddressed intention behind Clark’s lingering gaze and broad smiles, the way he’d soften around Bruce, lean into his orbit. But maybe he had been wrong, had read into nothing.
Maybe Clark was just a soft-hearted, Midwestern boy with too much love to give and an abundant way of showing it. His careless touches weren’t something to treasure but readily given to anyone, a demonstration of kindness Bruce craved because he had spent so long blocking people out rather than Clark’s attempt to weaselling himself further into Bruce’s bubble. Bruce closed his eyes, shaking his head as he sighed. He wasn’t anything special, he knew that much, the past couple of days had proven it too. So why did it hurt so badly?
* * *
Bruce downed the last of his glass of whisky as he paced the hotel room. He’d managed to force Clark into a suit, barely resisting an eye roll as the man stared forlornly at his hideous collection of Hawaiian shirts. There was still a few minutes before the conference began, but he was uncharacteristically nervous. While he knew the next hour or so would be spent mindless listening to Chapton’s rambling, it was the mingling afterward that left a bitter feeling in his chest.
Mini canapés and watered down wine was familiar to Bruce. They were a common feature of his attendance at less extravagant fundraisers. This time, however, he’d have to grin and bear it while glued to Clark’s side. Distant, but connected through loosely thread fingers. Poised but charming as he brushed non-existent lint off the other man’s jacket. Annoyed but persevering as he kissed his full lips and ignored rehearsed barbs they’d run over once they got to the beach. In love but struggling to find purpose in keeping its flame alive.
“We should go,” Bruce said, voice stiff. He cleared his throat, repeating himself when Clark failed to respond. “I’m sure people are filing in now, and we don’t want to be seated too far back. We should leave now.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Clark nodded, offering a teasing salute. His smile faltered at Bruce’s perturbed expression. “Too much?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” Bruce turned on his heel, heading toward the hotel room door. Over his shoulder, he threw Clark an assessing look. “Lose the tie. Your windsor knot is appalling and I’d rather not spend the rest of the afternoon wanting to shred it to pieces.”
“Can’t do anything right,” Clark grumbled, words followed by the rough pull of fabric as Bruce opened the door. Stood by the elevator, Clark preened at Bruce’s acknowledging hum then drew in a breath. “Showtime.”
“Indeed.” Bruce extended a hand, awkwardly lacing their fingers together as the elevator doors chimed open. He caught sight of their reflection and frowned. They looked to composed, sterile in their affection. Pressing the button for the conference hall, he ran a hand through his hair before doing the same to Clark. It took awhile to breakdown the mousse in his curls, pulling them into a mixture of Superman’s slicked look and Clark Kent’s unruly mane. Satisfied, he pushed the center of Clark’s glasses until they sat just so on the bridge of his nose.
“Adorable.” Bruce nodded, pleased at the gentle flush on Clark’s cheeks.
“Thanks, honey.” He grinned.
“Grey looks good on you,” Bruce said, thumbing the lapel of Clark’s suit jacket. It was a deep tone of grey, something he’d never find in Clark’s closet but hoped the man would wear more often. His eyes shone brighter wearing it, the cut of his shoulders emphasized but not enough to draw focus away from his dimpled grin and sweet demeanor. Bruce ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he plucked open the top button of Clark’s button down, relaxing the collar and thankful he’d gotten rid of the monstrous tie.
“You don’t think it’s a little bit… stern?” Clark asked, fingers twitching in Bruce’s grasp.
“It’s not stern.” Bruce hummed, letting go of Clark’s shirt as his other hand’s fingers squeezed Clark’s. “It’s powerful.”
Clark threw him a crooked grin, taking a deep breath as the elevator doors sprang open. “If you say so, B.”
* * *
The ballroom was loud, filled with gossiping voices and clinking shoes against varnished wooden floors. Clark stood off to the side by the food, picking at a crumbling goat’s cheese tart and offering distracted hums of acknowledgment to the couple that had cornered him a few minutes earlier. Bruce had snuck away from his side to grab another glass of wine, antsy as they made passing small talk with the other couples who had stuck around after the conference. Clark bit back a scoff at the memory. Almost two hours of listening to Chapton say nothing of any real substance. It was all throw away phrases, buzzwords, and promotion for his book that would be released next fall. The few things he said that held any merit were mainly pieces of advice his Ma had passed down to him while in high school.
Affective communication was open communication.
Listening to your partner is not the same as hearing what they’re saying to you.
Small, meaningful gestures across your relationship are better than big, grandious gestures when expected.
The others, well, he was grateful his Ma had never broached those topics.
Making love becomes just having sex when you no longer feel like you can tell your partner what you desire.
It’s okay to fantasize, but when fantasy becomes more interesting than reality— you’ve got a problem.
Sometimes your bodies can communicate better the words you wish to tell your partner.
The latter had felt Clark squirming in his seat, fingers twitching in Bruce’s cold grip. His reaction had earned a sharp uptick of the Bat’s brow, a crawling smirk over his lips.
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to communicate to me right now,” he’d whispered in Clark’s ear, lips purposefully brushing against his skin. Clark had bit back a moan at the feeling. “But if you squeeze my fingers any tighter I fear you may sever them off entirely.”
Clark had never wanted to sink into the floor more in his life than in that moment. As it stood now, he looked up in time to watch Bruce’s arm get caught by Chapton on his way back over to Clark. A disgruntled look flashed over Bruce’s face before he bled it away into surprise. Clark watched as the man’s hand swept appreciatively over his arm before dropping to his side. It was when Bruce shot the man a flirty smile over the edge of his wine glance that Clark felt the bubbling of unease in his stomach.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” He muttered, not waiting for a reply as he moved away from the table and into the thicket of bodies floating the room. He stopped by one of the high tables, leaning an arm onto it as he pretended to check his phone. He turned his ear toward Bruce and Chapton, narrowing in on their conversation.
“— doesn’t see me, you know?” Bruce said, a put upon sigh in his tone and Clark cursed himself for missing what he had said prior. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s even happy, being with me. The way he looks at me makes me think he does, but I’m not sure if that’s enough anymore. Every time I try to get closer to him, I feel like he’s pulling away from me.”
“Do you still want to be with him?” Chapton asked, a knowing lilt to his voice. “I’m hearing a lot of you questioning his standing in the relationship, but what about yours?”
“I think so,” Bruce said, meekly. Clark glanced up to catch the doe eyed look he threw at Chapton, fingers fiddling with his glass. He looked torn, face contrasted with a sweetness Clark had never seen and sultry darkness. He looked like a man on the brink and desperate for an answer, even if from the devil himself. “I just miss how it used to be. And maybe that was all Honeymoon period nonsense, but there really was a time where I felt like his whole world revolved around me. There was an almost suffocating need to be around each other, and I want that back, but now it’s like— I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like he’s just going through the motions? The relationship feels more like vocational obligation than love. He clocks in for dinner and sex, clocks out for any emotional intimacy.”
Clark rolled his eyes, letting out an amused chuckle to himself. Bruce, a man so avoidant he built a cave under his home and fought crime just so he didn’t have to go to therapy for his extensive list of issues, was trying to paint himself as someone seeking emotional intimacy… from Clark, the most emotionally available person to walk the Earth. Probably even Krypton, if it still existed. The nerve. “He is unbelievable.”
“So, you two are still physically intimate?” Chapton pried and Clark gaped at him. Of all the things Bruce had mentioned, that was what he latched onto. Clark frowned to himself, watching as the man idly swirled his martini glass.
“Well, yes, but not very often.” Bruce shrugged, ducking his head slightly as he muttered, “though not for a lack of trying.”
“You’re a very attractive man,” Chapton said, causing Bruce’s head to snap up as a disbelieving grin flickered over his lips. “Your partner is very lucky to have you, especially in his bed. I very much doubt you’re the problem here.”
“I— why thank you, Dr. Chapton,” Bruce said, appreciation dripping in each word.
“Please.” Chapton raised a hand, offering Bruce too fond look. “Call me Lance.”
“Well, Lance.” A daring smile peaked on Bruce’s face aa he drew closer to the man. Rolling the edge of his glass over his lip, Bruce peered up at Chapton and pouted. Clark’s skin crawled as the man’s eyes locked onto Bruce’s mouth, his heart rate accelerating in Clark’s ears. “What’s the problem then?”
“He knows he doesn’t deserve to be with you,” Chapton supplied and Bruce’s smile faltered, eyes widening in genuine surprise. “Like I said before, you are a very attractive man. I can already tell you’re intelligent, very charming, and are well intune with your body. I doubt you aren’t able to satisify Charlie—“
“Cory,” Bruce corrected, surprise still evident but not caught off guard enough to let the obviously intentional mistake slip.
“— Cory, my apologies. Still, you’re a catch. Far out of his league. Something Cory is very aware of, highly insecure over.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Bruce said, tone cautious as Chapton drew in closer. He bristled as Chapton placed a hand on his wrist, thumbing at his pulse point in way that had Clark stiffen. Bruce’s pulse was alarmingly high, the way it got when he was on patrol and cornered without a failsafe back-up plan.
“I would. It’s simple psychology after,” Chapton stated, mildly condescending as he tipped his head down to look directly into Bruce’s eyes. There was something predatory in the gaze which had Clark’s fingers curl around the edge of the table. He fought the urge to storm over, whether to yell at Bruce for letting the man humiliate him or to hit the man for touching Bruce in such a manner, he wasn’t sure.
“He may be closed off because he knows you can do better. Potentially, he is just bracing himself for the moment you see that for yourself too.” Chapton’s fingers inched under the cuff of Bruce’s jacket, fiddling with his cufflinks as he smouldered down at Bruce’s increasingly awed expression. “Perhaps it’s time to admit that you can do better, that you should be with someone better. That can give you what you need, to touch you and offer you the release that you you’ve clearly been craving.”
“And how would I do that?” Bruce asked, voice hoarse and Clark felt his heart shatter. Tilting his head, Bruce carefully withdrew himself from Chapton’s hold and grasped his wine glass in both hands. “How do I ask someone that— for that release that I’ve been craving?”
“Well, I mean, it’s really quite simple.” Chapton’s face grew smug as he toyed with the skewered olive in his glass. A wolfish grin pulled at his lips as his eyes honed in on the way Bruce gnawed at his bottom lip. “Sometimes all you need to do look them dead in the eyes, hold nothing back, and say ‘I want you’.”
“It’s that simple.” Bruce parroted back, skepticism in his tone even as his eyes widened in adoration for the hack of a therapist before him. Clark thought he was going to be sick.
“Wouldn’t be here, talking to you, if it wasn’t.” Chapton grinned, drawing in closer. Clark gritted his teeth as the man’s eyes hovered over Bruce’s lips, dipping to the faint line of his collarbone that was visible under his shirt. “A felt lack of desire is one of the biggest causes of relationship failure. Everyone likes reassurance that their partner wants them. If you aren’t getting that, and if you aren’t feeling that for him— you should direct it at someone you do know you desire.”
“So, what you’re telling me is all I need to do is lean in,” Bruce began, preening as his deft fingers reached out and toyed with the lapels on Chapton’s jacket. When the man relaxed into the touch, a sultry look feel over Bruce’s face. “And let the object of my desires know that there’s no one else in the world for me?”
Bruce hands glided up Chapton’s chest, resting on the nape of his neck as Bruce placed his mouth at the shell of the man’s ear. His voice was low, smooth as velevt so only Chapton, and Clark, could hear him. “All I need to do is show him how much I want him, how much my body needs his touch. Tell him how much I want to moan his name as he takes me apart and then let him put me back together again with just his touch?”
“Fuck.” Chapton whispered the curse faintly, drawing a breathy chuckle from Bruce.
“Or maybe I should just keep it simple?” Bruce mused, tongue just grazing the mans skin as he hummed. “Stand nice and close, just like this, and press my lips to his ear. Whisper, just so he can hear me that I want him. Say those simple little words and he’ll eat out of my palm, right, Doctor?”
“Yeah.” Chapton nodded. “Say them to me.”
“I want you to fuck me,” Bruce murmured, a quiet moan slipping from his throat as he did. “Cory.”
A sharp rasp drew from the back of Chapton’s throat, barely registered as Clark’s heart leapt in his own. The words rattled in his brain as he watched Bruce draw his mouth away from Chapton’s ear to face him straight on. As he did, Bruce stared up at the floundering man with an innocence unbefitting for everything he had just done.
Bruce waited expectantly as Chapton gaped for air, a high flush to his cheeks as Bruce tilted his head. “Did I do it right?”
“I— yes, yes.” Chapton cleared his throat, all but whimpering as Bruce separated from him entirely. It was easy to see the strain in his trousers, even as the dark arousal in his eyes began to die out into something akin to humiliation bordering on anger.
Bruce’s face remained the picture of patience as he waited for the other man to continue.
“That was…” Chapton gritted his teeth, fighting for composure as he noticed the curious faces turned their way. “Perfect, you were perfect.”
A bright grin cracked over Bruce’s face as he rocked on his feet. Patting Chapton on the cheek, Bruce gave him one last swooning look. “God, Dr. Chapton, I think you may have just saved my life. If this worked so easily on you, I’m hopefully I’ll have Cory writhing against me in ecstasy all over again. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough— maybe I’ll send you an invite to our wedding!”
The underside of Chapton’s eye twitched as Bruce’s hand fell from his face. Not giving the man a chance to respond, Bruce spun on his heel. His purposeful stride nearly broke when he caught glimpse of Clark across the room, several emotions Bruce could not decipher flashing across his face. Marching forward, Bruce didn’t pause as he threw his arms around the other man and made a spectacle of pulling him in for a slow kiss. When Clark’s hands gripped his waist, it was with a crushing strength that had Bruce gasping. As he broke the kiss, Bruce ran a tender hand over the side of Clark’s face, eyes questioning as he was met with a plastic grin and torturous dull blue eyes. Before he could say anything, Clark drew his hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.
Twining their fingers, Clark ignored the heat of Chapton’s eyes on them. He took a deep breath in then glanced at the elevators tucked away at the far corner of the room. His skin felt tight and he needed to leave, needed an excuse to get away from Bruce without arising suspicion. When Bruce made to speak, a hand raising to touch the side of Clark’s face, Clark tightened the grip of his fingers. Bruce stopped with barely a brush of his fingertips to Clark’s cheek, lips twitching to keep a confused frown from arising. Nodding toward the elevator, he tugged Bruce along as gently as he could, flashing a teasing smile at him that was a little too sharp for comfort. “I think it’s time to get outta here, don’t you think?”
Bruce matched his look, though his eyes made it clear that a terse conversation would be coming his way the second they were alone. “Couldn’t agree more.”
* * *
After floating around the hall for a few more minutes, Clark hauled Bruce back to their room, the latter smirking over at Chapton as they left to unsure he believed his advice was about to be put to good use. While Clark had been all doting eyes and wide grins as they left, the moment they entered the elevator to their floor he collapsed into himself, seeming to be as exhausted by the situation as Bruce was.
“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, taking in Clark’s deflated form. “You’ve been off since I came back over to you.”
“I really don’t want to talk about this right now. I’m exhausted,” Clark said, devoid of emotion.
Bruce tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he took in Clark’s exhausted face. “Hn.”
Riding in silence, Bruce toyed with his phone, resisting the urge to break the suffocating angst that hung over them in the confined space.
Swinging the hotel room door open, Bruce let out a sigh of relief and kicked off his loafers. His neck ached from craning to look up at the elevated stage Chapton had pranced across for the past couple of hours and lying face down in bed had never felt more enticing. Throwing his phone onto the desk, Bruce clicked his back then regarded Clark with his final assessment of the situation.
“I don’t think Chapton is a criminal mastermind, I think he’s a hack.” Bruce grunted, discarding his cufflinks into his bag before dropping onto the edge of the bed.
Pulling his shirt over his head, he made to undo his belt when he realized Clark’s unusual silence. Drawing his gaze up, Bruce frowned at the other man still hovering by the door. It seemed like he was considering turning on his heel and just walking out. “What?”
“I really don’t—“ Clark stopped himself, glancing at the ceiling as he seemingly grappled with some decision Bruce was not privy to. Eventually, he made up his mind and Bruce was surprised at the barely contained rage on his face. “Did you really have to do all that?”
“All of what?” Bruce asked, cautious. He watched as Clark kicked off his shoes, hastily tugging off his suit jacket. “Do you have any idea how nauseating that was. Having to just stand there and watch as you pawed at him like that— watch as you basically threw yourself at a guy who was meant to be bringing us closer together.”
“Clark, I really don’t see what your problem is.” Bruce crossed his arms as Clark undid his shirt. When the roughness of his fingers broke loose a couple buttons, his eyebrows shot up. “You do realize Chapton is a sleaze who preys on people desperate for validation they aren’t getting from their partner’s right? It was the easiest angle I had for getting close to him. I also made it explicitly clear that I wasn’t interested, which I know you heard.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t matter. I really didn’t appreciate looking like an idiot while you did all that.” Clark ripped the rest of his shirt off in frustration, throwing the useless fabric into the trashcan by the hotel room’s desk. “Everyone saw you two together, the way you were draped over him.”
“Does that matter? We are never seeing of them again,” Bruce retorted, unsure why Clark seemed so distressed. Drawing his belt free, he slid his slacks off and sat cross legged on the mattress. He was tired, too exhausted to go shower off the grimey feeling of the other man’s touch, and far from in the mood to decipher whatever the hell was wrong with Clark. “We’ve established this mission was a bust. Obviously we’re looking at the wrong link in the chain. I’ll reassess the recordings when I’m back in Gotham, see if maybe there’s another reason Chapton is in Crane and Cobblepot’s pocket. Maybe they’re secretly in love and Chapton is their misguided attempt at sorting things out.”
Bruce attempt to diffuse did nothing to Clark’s sour mood. The man instead just threw his pants into his suitcase, tug on a pair of sweats as he marched to his side of the bed.
“Kal,” Bruce tried again, pausing when the other man merely dropped onto the bed and turned his back to him. Huffing a breath, Bruce inched up the bed and laid a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “I really don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“I’m just tired,” Clark said, tone clipped as he shrugged Bruce’s hand off him.
Bruce stared at the seemingly offense limb, biting back a feeling of hurt as he gaped at Clark’s stiff form. Slowly, he lowered himself onto his side of the bed and turned off the lights. Surrounded by darkness, Bruce gnawed at his bottom lip and fought back the urge to confront Clark again. His suspicions had arose on their first night in Miami. Clark’s jumpy behavior, his odd dreams and fear of Bruce’s attempts at tactical interaction.
He wasn’t exactly blind to Clark’s wondering gaze, the soft smiles he shot at Bruce when he thought he wasn’t looking. He had just spent so long dismissing Clark’s sweetness as anything but his heroic love and care for every person he met. Hell, Bruce had seen Clark looked at Diana and J’onn in the same many on many occasions.
After tonight, he was starting to doubt that his feelings for Clark were entirely one sided. As Bruce closed his eyes, he tried to strategize just how he was going to approach the situation once they were back home.
For a moment, Chapton’s advice flashed through his mind but Bruce dismissed it with a grunt and rolled onto his side. A physical demonstration of affection would probably make Clark cry. Bruce gritted his teeth at the groan that tried to escape his mouth at the conclusion he’d drawn.
He would have to express his feelings for Kal through words.
* * *
Clark was in heaven. The lush, slick pull of Bruce’s mouth on his cock was intoxicating. As he sunk deeper into the pillows under his head, he ran gentle fingers through Bruce’s hair and prayed he never stopped sucking him dry.
They’d been at it for what felt like hours, lazy kissing on the couch turning into long, slow sex that had Bruce whimpering into his mouth as he came. Clark had never seen the Bat so relaxed, so pliant as he folded into Clark’s arms and dozed off. He hadn’t expected to wake up to Bruce’s mouth on him, burying his cock deep enough in his throat that tears clung to his lashes.
With an obscene slurp, Bruce pulled off, hand lazily jerking up and down his length as he panted for breath. “You taste so good.”
“Don’t stop, please never stop doing that.” Clark moaned, staring down at Bruce’s wide eyes.
“Sorry, Kal.” Bruce shrugged, parting his lips enough to lavish the tip of Clark’s cock with his pink tongue. At the groan it ripped deep from the other man’s chest, Bruce chuckled. “I don’t make the rules for what you wake up.”
Clark scrambled, hands desperately grasping at Bruce. The warmth of his shoulders, his sweat slick hair, anything to keep the apparition from fading. In the end he came to, staring at a room lit only by the floor to ceiling windows beside the bed. The moonlight was harsh against his eyes and he winced, feeling a sharp clawing at the back of his head.
Clark turned away, burying his face in a familiar warmth. He dragged his mouth without thinking down its heat, revelling in the grounding feeling it gave him until the pain suddenly returned. He winced, slowly coming back to himself. Something was slapping at the side of his head, prodding at him to get up. Pulling himself upright, he blinked to find Bruce glaring up at him, a stern line between his brow.
“What the fuck are you doing, Clark?” Bruce hissed, voice gruff with sleep and not doing Clark any favors. The Bruce in his dream sounded the same, voice hoarse from screaming in pleasure, from abusing his throat trying to make Clark come for the third time that night.
It was only when a pointed jab hit Clark’s forehead that he realized what was happening. He’d somehow roped Bruce into his arms, hands griping onto his hips like a vice. Their faces were barely an inch apart, Bruce’s lips a dark red and slick as he gaped at the man on top of him.
Clark let go in flash. He all but tripped over himself as he backed away, reclaiming his side of the bed. His chest heaved as he blurred out a stuttered apology, ears ringing with the frantic beating of Bruce’s heart.
“Jesus Christ,” Bruce said, just as confused by what happened as Clark was. “Did you just… dry hump me in your sleep?”
“I am so sorry B.” Clark groaned, pressing his palms to his eyes in embarrassment. His could feel his lips slowly healing from their swollen state, his cock hard and straining against his sweatpants. His head hurt, torn between the present and his dream. When he hazarded a look over at Bruce, he found that the other man hadn’t moved. He seemed stunned into place. His hands awkwardly clutched at the bedsheets, a trail of soft purpling marks on his neck, mouth swollen in a way that shouldn’t have Clark’s gut turning with want.
“What— what happened?” Clark asked, immediately feeling like an idiot when Bruce swung a glare at him.
“It appears you tried to jump me in my sleep,” Bruce replied, tone clipped as though he was also processing the words that came out of his mouth. “I was busy dreaming above dead puppies, so imagine my surprise when I awoke to a hand down my pants and an awfully dexterous tongue in my mouth.”
Clark sank further into the bed with shame. He could feel tears pooling in his eyes and he let out a shaking breath. “I am so sorry—”
“I cannot figure you out, Kal.” Bruce interjected. He slowly sat up, back against the headbaord as he stared down at his hands. At the sight of them shaking, Clark felt a tear roll down his face. “You could barely stomach kissing me the other day, and yet every time we fall into bed you can’t keep your hands off of me. I can feel you glare at me whenever I talk or touch someone but whenever I try to talk to you about, you just shut down. What the fuck is your problem?”
“I don’t know.” Clark knew it was a lousy answer even before Bruce scoffed.
“Bullshit. Stop lying to me.”
“I’m really sorry, B. This has never happened before,” Clark said, desperate as he turned to face Bruce. When the man looked away he groaned, running a frantic hand through his hair. “It’s like something comes over me, my mind just drifts off and my body responds to these desires without me even realizing until it’s too late. But I swear, I never wanted to hurt you or make you uncomfortable, and it kills me to know I did that to you tonight. I should go, I’ll leave.”
Clark got out of the bed, stopping only at the gentle call of his name from Bruce. When he turned he found the other man staring at him, kneeling in the center of the bed with a conflicted look on his face.
“I just need to know one thing,” Bruce said, staring down at the rumbled mess of the bed and frowning. “Just one question, and then I’ll let you leave if you think that’s best.”
Clark swallowed hard, nodding. “Anything, B.”
“Do you— Hn.” Bruce cut himself off, shuffling awkwardly on the bed before steeling himself. He met Clark’s eyes with a firm look, clearly determined to say his piece. “Do you want me?”
“What, B.?” Clark’s brow pinched as Bruce leaned back on his forearms. For a moment he was a mirror image of himself from nights before, a fantasy of Clark’s projected in the flesh. Clark hated himself for the pooling of desire in his gut Bruce’s probe form evoked in him. “I don’t understand.”
“If you want to fuck me, you can,” Bruce said. Slowly Bruce shifted until he was flat against the mattress. His thighs spread gently as he ran his hands over then and up to his bare chest. A light moan fell from his lips, audible only to Clark, as he trailed a finger along the bruise at his collarbone. “I’d let you do it, you know. You can have me for the night, touch me however you want. I’d even want you to do it. Can even beg you for it, if you want me to.”
Clark gasped, watching as Bruce skimmed a hand along the waistband of his briefs. In an instant Clark was stood in front of him, hands reaching out to grasp at Bruce’s face. The other man startled at the touch, eyes wide as Clark pulled him upright before falling to his knees on the carpet.
“B., no. Please, I don’t want that from you,” Clark said, amending himself at the distraught look that broke over Bruce’s face, the hurt flashing in his eyes before he can steel it away under a glare of indifference. “No, that came out wrong. I don’t just want that from you, B. I want everything, all of you, forever. I’m sorry it’s taken this happening for me to tell you that, but I love you, B. I’ve loved you for so long, since the moment you became my best friend and probably a lot longer before that than I want to admit right now. You’ve been my rock for so long, the one person I can go to about anything and it kills me to know I’ve hurt you like this. That I betrayed your trust and made you think that sex was all I’d want from you, that you’d let me use you like that when all I’ve ever wanted you to feel from me was how much I love you. Because I do, Bruce. I fucking love you.”
Bruce’s face closed off in a way that would have terrified Clark if he couldn’t hear the man’s racing heart beat. At the speed it was going, Clark knew he was scared but processing everything that was said to him. It was the same way his body reacted any time someone required an emotional response from him. Clark knew to be patient, to wait as the Bat forced each affective word out of himself like broken glass in his mouth. Regardless of if Bruce accepted his feelings or not, Clark would let him do so at his own pace.
“You love me,” Bruce repeated, more to himself than for Clark to answer. Clark answered anyway. “And you just cursed. Did you— Kal, you love me?”
“Yes, I love you, B. Always have and I always will.”
“Hn.” Bruce grunted, though his hands scrambled to hold onto Clark’s wrists when he made to pull away. Biting down a smile at the action, Clark watched as Bruce slowly nodded to himself. “You’ve loved me for years, and instead of telling me you decided to dry fuck me in my sleep. And you call me emotionally stunted.”
“B., I’m really sorry—”
“Kal. Stop apologizing,” Bruce said, tone brisk and expression icy. Clark’s jaw snapped shut, anxiety sitting tight in his stomach as he waited for Bruce to speak again. “You are insufferable, a martyr to the point of actually inducing more pain than you aim to prevent. God, Kal-El, sometimes when I look at you, I want to pull my hair out. Because for someone who can see through literally walls and into my exoskeleton, you seem to be blind to the fact that I feel the exact same way as you do.”
Clark blinked, hurt at Bruce’s rant vanishing as he took in the other mans words. “Wait, B. Do you— You love me too? I heard you right, you feel the same way? Please tell me I’m fully misunderstanding you.”
“Well, yes. I—“ Bruce paused, face a war of emotions as he deliberated his next words.
“I, Hn. This is very uncomfortable, but, I love you too, Kal. Obviously,” Bruce said. “How could I not? Though, given how in sync we are when fighting together, it is slightly appalling how much we are lacking in effective communication skills.”
“Yeah, but it’s bound to happen in a dynamic where one of us feels too much and the other refuses to admit they feel anything at all,” Clark said, heartbeat thudding as Bruce’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. Taking in the mild flush that broke across Bruce’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose, a wide smile broke across Clark’s face. “I just— Gosh, I just never thought you’d feel the same way.”
“Well, I do. Though now I’m more pissed off at the fact that we could’ve saved ourselves from such a shitty vacation if you just said something, though I didn’t either but I digress on my own hypocrisy,” Bruce continued, eyes tracing the length of Clark’s shoulders and avoiding his face at all costs. “You’re supposed to noble and truthful hero, I am Darkness for a reason.”
“Bruce, please don’t talk yourself down like that,” Clark said, letting out an exasperated sigh that ended in fondness. The smile on his face shattered when he caught the uncertain look in Bruce eyes, the way he glanced to wear Clark’s hands had subconsciously drifted to the sides of his neck. Taking in the bruises he’d left on his pale skin, Clark dropped his gaze in shame. “Meeting you has made me happier than I could ever express in words, but I— I just don’t think I will ever be able to forgive myself for what happened tonight. For all the pain I’ve caused you, for the trust I broke touching you like that. But I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you let me. You’re my best friend, B., in spite of everything else I feel for you.”
“Kal.” Bruce frowned, thumbs stroking at Clark’s pulse point as he drew in a breath.
“If you still think I should go, I will,” Clark promised, ignoring the shake of Bruce’s head. “No matter what we said tonight, I want you to feel comfortable and safe, especially when you’re around me.”
When Clark gently pried his hands from Bruce’s grasp, he bit down a soft whimper. His heartbeat spiked as Clark’s hands settled on the curve of his knees, stroking the skin there gently. Wide blue eyes lifted to Bruce’s own and he found himself transfixed as Clark slowly pressed forward.
“If you want me to stay though, I will. Whatever you want Bruce, it’s yours.”
Slowly, giving Bruce enough time to back away if he needed to, Clark pressed closer. His left hand shifted up Bruce’s thigh just enough so that his lips could brush over his kneecap. At the soft touch, it was like something snapped within Bruce. He surged forward, fingers tangling in Clark’s hair as he yanked his mouth up and onto his own.
Clark’s mouth tasted perfect, better than his sleep addled brain could ever compute. He was sweet and warm and luscious. The taste of o-zone lingered on his skin, mouth too timid to allow Bruce’s tongue to truly explore it. It was only when Bruce fell back on the mattress did Clark draw from his feet, landing with a gruff moan onto top of him. Finally there were hands in his hair, roaming over Bruce’s face, as Clark let himself fall into Bruce’s embrace. Their kisses tirned calmer as Clark settled between his thighs, playful bites at swollen bottom lips, the drag of tongues against each other. It was only when Bruce pushed him away to catch his breath did Clark speak again.
“Please tell this isn’t just for tonight?” He asked, begging as he carded a hand through Bruce’s hair. Bruce bit back a moan at the desperate look in the other man’s eyes. “I think it might kill me if you do because this night will live with me forever.”
“I’m yours as long as you want me,” Bruce said, trying for a nonchalant shrug, but his hands trembled against Clark’s neck.
“So, forever then?”
“I—” Bruce bit his lip, thrown by the earnest look on Clark’s face. He feigned a moment to weight up his options before laughing at Clark’s unashamed desire. “Yes, you fucking dumbass. Forever.”
Clark grinned, diving back in to claim Bruce’s mouth in a searing kiss. Bruce moaned as Clark’s tongue nudged his lips open, dragging itself along the backs of his teeth as Clark consumed every breath he took. He moaned at the harsh drag of Clark’s hips along his own, eyes threatening to roll back at the hard press of Clark’s cock along his thigh. His nails dug into Clark’s curls, guiding his mouth down until it settled into the curve of Bruce’s neck. He hummed as Clark’s teeth dragged along his tender skin, sucked new marks until Bruce was quivering, thighs pressing hard along Clark’s sides.
“You know,” Bruce panted out, raising his hips to meet Clark’s own as the other man lifted his head. His pupils were blown wide, dark black as they stared down at Bruce. The moonlight made his tan skin glower with iridescent freckles. Bruce wanted to run his lips all over each one of them. “While I’m not pleased it took some weird sex dream to make us finally get to this point in our relationship, I’m glad we did. Though, I must also say, I was extremely offended by you insinuating before that you hurt me. We both know I would’ve had you incapacitated within seconds if I wanted to.”
“Oh, jeez, B.” Clark groaned, knocking his forehead against Bruce’s. Tipping his head down enough to kiss Bruce’s lips quickly, he pulled away with an amused smile. “Not this again. How do you still think you’re stronger than me? I mean, unless you have some krypt—”
Clark’s eyes widened and he twisted himself in Bruce’s hold, frantically scanning the room before snapping back to Bruce. Clark stared down at him in shock, watching as a crawling smirk made its way over his face.
“Wait, no. You’re kidding? How did you— What? Where?”
“Bedside drawer.” Bruce nudged his head toward to the beside table on his side of the bed and Clark narrowed his vision. He blushed as he made out the drawers contents. Discreetly tucked beside what was clearly not a normal bottle of body lotion provided by the hotel was a small lead box.
“Always prepared, arent you?” Clark chuckled, then flushed at the implication of his word choice. He had never been so in awe and terrified of someone in his life.
“Well, of course.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but didn’t have its usual conviction. It was small, unsure, and lacking in the confidence Clark was so used to. “I’m B—.”
“You’re so remarkable.” Clark gasped out, cutting Bruce off with such surprised he stammered. “And stubborn, callous, aggravating to a fault yet so charming and adorable. Not that you’d ever admit to the latter, but you are, you’re adorable, B.”
With reddening cheeks, Bruce glared at him. “Kal.”
“No, you are, all of those things and so much more,” Clark insisted, his fingers stretching just enough to stroke the other man’s cheek. “I love you so much.”
“Kal, shut up.” Bruce squirmed awkwardly, eyes darting the room in order to avoid the look of devotion on Clark’s face. “I’m uncomfortable.”
“I love you, Bruce Wayne,” Clark said, words slow and clear.
When Bruce’s lips parted in a broken moan, Clark couldn’t help the sharp drag of his hips. His fingers rushed to grasp at Bruce’s jaw, tugging his face up until Clark couldn’t crush their lips together. His mouth was frantic, desperate to pour every bit of devotion Clark had for him into each touch. He could feel Bruce harden against him, groaning as nails raked down his back. Clark felt Bruce mumble something, repeating himself with growing breathlessness until Clark pulled back.
“What is it?” He panted, a soft gasp leaving him as he took in Bruce’s face. His lips were dark, swollen and bitten to the point they were near purple. His eyes though, they were what stopped Clark in his tracks. Pupils blown wide, two pools of black that simmered with desire that had Clark bowing his head to Bruce’s collarbone as he fought the urge to just take.
“You have no idea what you do to me, B.” He moaned, mouthing at Bruce’s skin as his fingers pried onto his hips.
“Fuck me,” Bruce stammered and Clark’s head shot up. Bruce trailed his hands up Clark’s spine, settling at the back of his head. He tugged at the curls, moaning when Clark’s eyes fluttered shut. “I need you to fuck me.”
“Bruce,” Clark whispered, eyes opening to look at the man beneath him. Bruce was staring at him with warmth in his eyes, a bright flush high on his cheeks as he bit down on his lip. Something hot burned in Clark’s gut, a desire to consume Bruce, take him, make sure he knew how much Clark loved him— had always loved him.”
“Please,” Bruce said, and Clark would’ve laughed at how pained the word sounded falling from Bruce’s mouth. It was one he used sparingly, or only with Alfred for fear of reprimand at his lack of manners. Now paired with dark eyes and falling from Bruce’s sinfully plush lips, Clark couldn’t be blamed for how quickly he folded. His hands all but torn off Bruce’s briefs, travelling over the newly exposed stretches of skin. Bruce was perfect, toned muscle and scarred flesh that glided over Clark’s palms. Without thinking he made his way down Bruce’s body, kissing and licking at his skin until he was able to mouth along the side of Bruce’s flushed cock.
“Oh my God,” Bruce groaned, sinking into the mattress at the first broad stroke of Clark’s tongue over his leaking tip. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so turned on before, so needy for another persons touch.
Bruce glanced down, hand drifting through Clark’s hair and an astonished smile fell over his lips as he watched the other man slowly taking his cock into his mouth. This was actually happening. He was about to have sex with Clark, who loved him back, wanted him back in every way possible. Bruce was sure he was close to passing out, be it from shock or how good Clark’s mouth felt on him. It was a hot, tight, and wet heat that seemed never ending.
When Bruce’s cock reached the back of Clark’s throat and the man simply swallowed around him at the intrusion, his hands scrambled for purchase as pleasure swarmed all his senses. The pace was slow, lethargic almost, as Clark took his time savoring every inch of him. Bruce could feel beads of sweat falling down his forehead, pooling down his neck as he fought the urge to thrust into Clark’s perfect mouth. He wanted Clark to set the pace, to give Bruce pleasure however he saw fit. It was a release of control that scared Bruce as much as it enticed him.
A sudden flash of wind had Bruce flinching. Before he could question what had happened, a slick finger was gliding over his hole and he gasped. Looking down he caught the bottle of hotel lube at Clark’s side, his mouth still slowly sucking on Bruce’s cock as he slipped a finger inside him.
“Fuck.” Bruce groaned, all eloquent thoughts dead and buried as he felt Clark sink further into him. The thickness of his fingers added to the aching stretch, moving faster than Clark’s mouth and another followed suit inside him only a moment later. Bruce pressed the heel of his palm to his mouth, muting a sharp whine that came out of him. It was too good, too much but also not enough. He needed Clark inside him, claiming him. As if reading his mind, Clark slipped a third finger inside, scissoring them apart briskly before pulling out. Bruce whined at the loss and at Clark drawing his mouth off his cock.
“I’ve got you,” Clark cooed, rolling his hips forward as he dragged himself back up Bruce’s body. Once they were face to face, he ran his lips over the curve of Bruce’s jaw and slipped his hands under Bruce’s thighs. Tugging them around his waist, Clark guided his cock inside of him and gasped as he was engulfed by Bruce’s tight heat. “You feel amazing.”
“Move. Now. Please.” Bruce’s voice was terse, bordering on hysterical as his thighs twitched around Clark. He thought he was going to faint at the sensation of Clark’s cock inside him, the stretch miles apart from the stroke of his fingers. He was so big, bigger than Bruce was used to and for a moment he was worried if he could take any more when Clark continued to thrust in.
By the time Clark bottomed out Bruce was a writhing mess, choked moans falling from his lips that sounded more like sobs of pleasure. He barely felt the way Clark pressed kisses to the side of his face, tongue flashing out to catch stray tears as they fell from Bruce’s eyes.
“We can stop if you want, if it’s too much,” Clark promised, hips still as they pressed flush against Bruce’s. At the sharp glare he received, Clark chuckled. “Or we can keep going.”
“That, yes, that option sounds much better.” Bruce nodded, words garbling into a shocked moan as Clark pulled out. He jerked his hips back into Bruce in a sharp, demanding thrust, picking up pace instantly as he all but fucked Bruce into the mattress. “Oh my god, Kal.”
Clark moaned as Bruce’s hands dug into his back, nails doing their best attempt at clawing at his skin. The sounds that fell from Bruce’s mouth were beautiful, ones he knew he’d be playing in his mind on repeat long after they were done. He didn’t think he’d ever heard something so melodic, especially when Bruce sighed out his name with a blissful grin on his mouth. Clark’s cock throbbed as it slid in and out of Bruce’s tight heat, closer to coming than he’d like. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, wanting to grip every inch of Bruce he could but settling for running over his chest, his arms, gripping his thighs and sliding over his ass. He felt every flex of Bruce’s muscles, ran his mouth over the fluttering pulse of his neck and digging his teeth in any time Bruce gasped at a particularly good roll of his hips.
“Just like that.” Bruce hummed, eyes slipping closed as his lips parted in a steady stream of whispered moans. Clark ran a hand down the side of his face, thumbing at his spit slick mouth before closing around his jaw. He tipped Bruce’s face up, grazing his lips over his cheek before devouring his mouth in a biting kiss.
“You feel amazing, B.” Clark groaned against his lips, tongue claiming Bruce’s mouth until his moans picked up in intensity. Pulling back, he stared at the lust drunk expression on Bruce’s face, hips stuttering as his pace quickened. He watched Bruce’s eyes widen, rolling back in his head as his fingers stabbed into Clark’s flesh, a broken cry rattling from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Jesus fucking— Kal!” Bruce’s voice broke out into a scream as Clark’s cock punched at that sweet spot inside of him. His vision whitened out, Clark’s face coming back into focus in time for Bruce to catch the ecstasy floating over him. “Don’t stop.”
Clark panted out a chuckle, throwing a wink at Bruce as he leaned in. Their chests were pressed together, Clarks forearms boxing in Bruce’s face as his hips slammed into Bruce hard enough to shift them up the bed. “As if I could. You feel too good, so fucking perfect for me, B.”
At this words, Bruce’s mind stuttered offline and a whine fell from his lips. Clark watched as Bruce’s mouth slackened, eyes squeezed shut as he let out a low moan on pleasure. Pressing his lips to the side of his neck, Clark drove his hips in deeper, grinding into Bruce’s as he sought out that same spot which made Bruce shudder underneath him before.
“Close— I’m so close, Kal, please, fuck me harder, I need you,” Bruce whispered, arching into Clark’s touch as he moved his hand between them to quickly stroke at his own cock. His free hand tangled in Clark’s hair, pulling his face up enough to kiss. It was a messy embrace, more teeth and tongue than anything else. Clark caught the sharp hitch of Bruce’s breath and pulled back in time to catch the blissed expression that broke across Bruce’s face as he came apart under him.
“Fuck.” Bruce moaned, hand tightening Clark’s hair as he bowed off the bed. Stripes of hot, white come spilled over his chest and hand. Clark couldn’t help but whimper at the sight, eyes glued to Bruce’s flushed form as his own orgasm fell over him. The tight clenching of Bruce’s hole around him had Clark fighting not to drop his full weight down as pleasure rippled through him. His body felt like air, his bones turned to bliss as he came inside of Bruce.
Slowly, he lowered his face into the crook of Bruce neck, mouthing at his pulse point as they both came down from their highs. Clark nudged his nose at the constellation of bruises he’d left on Bruce’s delicate skin, each one a reminder of how he’d made Bruce fall apart underneath him, claimed him for himself.
“I love you,” he mumbled into the curve of Bruce’s jaw, sucking a final mark to the unblemished stretch skin. Bruce tipped his chin back, offering Clark more room as he gave an acknowledging hum.
“If not through your words alone, I could definitely tell that through your touch, Kal. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk straight for a while,” Bruce muttered, thighs relaxing around Clark’s hips. He gently lowered them down to the tangled sheets, fingers twitching along Clark’s back. “Next round though, I am going to ride you into the mattress.”
“Oh my gosh, yes please do that.” Clark gasped at the thought of Bruce on top of him. Feeling Clark’s cock suddenly hardening inside him, Bruce let out a strangled breath, pushing at Clark’s shoulder until he raised himself back up. At Bruce’s imploring glance down at where their hips still met, Clark chuckled. “Sorry, I have a, uh, really short refraction period.”
“I— Actually, I don’t know why I’m surprised by this.” Bruce scoffed at himself, turning his awed expression back to an impassive one as he looked back at Clark. “You literally fly and can deflect bullets, of fucking course your dick is also invincible.”
“Jeez, B. You can’t just say stuff like that,” Clark said, burrowing his face back into Bruce’s skin as he squirmed with embarrassment. Bruce moaned as the action drove Clark’s cock deeper inside him, back arching at the fullness.
“Yeah, I’m definitely riding that thing into the sunset.” Bruce nodded, pouting when Clark began to shift his hips back, cock slipping out of him. Dragging his nails down Clark’s back, Bruce hands gripped firmly at Clark’s ass. Hauling Clark’s hips harder into himself, Bruce cursed at the rough force of Clark’s cock sliding back inside. “Jesus. So fucking big.”
Clark sighed, face twitching with pleasure as he resigned himself to giving Bruce what he wanted. “Can I at least eat you out this time?”
The words were clunky, a level of crassness Clark wasn’t accustom to outside the fantasy scape of his dreams. At Bruce’s pleased grin and daring eyes, he felt his shoulders relax, even more so when Bruce pressed a kiss to his lips.
“My, my. You truly are the gift that keeps on giving,” Bruce teased, grin turning feral as Clark flipped them over. His dry laughter was silenced by Clark’s mouth, devouring his breath until they turned to panting moans. Scrambling upright, Bruce straddled Clark’s hips, slowly rolling himself down his flushed cock. “Though I guess it’s my turn to give you a little something back. All you need to do now is sit back and enjoy the ride, Kal.”
* * *
While Clark wasn’t expecting a thunderous welcome when he returned to the Watchtower, he was mildly surprised by how still the space station was. Hal was half asleep in the monitor room, with Barry beside him flinging rubber bands absentmindedly at the screens. Turning to glance at Bruce over his shoulder, Clark bit back a grin at the annoyed twitch breaking loose under the Bat’s left eye.
Striding over to Hal’s seat, Bruce unceremoniously kicked at the back rest and sighed when Hal barely managed to catch himself before face planting into the desk. “Lantern. Good to see you’re as alert as ever.”
“Jesus, Spooks. I thought a week of sunshine and rainbows would’ve pulled the stick out of your ass at least,” Hal grumbled, glaring at Batman. Reclaiming his seat, Hal moved to punch Barry’s shoulder only for the Speedster to shoot halfway across the room. “Cheater.”
“Welcome back guys,” Barry said, a broad grin on his face as he looped Clark in for a brief hug. He falter in front of Bruce, opting for an awkward wave. “Though… why are you back so early?”
“We realized we were chasing the wrong lead and B. was getting antsy being away from his darkness and shadows for so long,” Clark teased, nudging the Bat who merely grunted in response. Hal’s eyebrow ticked up when he noted the way Clark’s hand lingered down and over Bruce’s forearm before he pulled away. “Plus I ran out of Hawaiian shirts so figured we’d just come back, put our efforts toward something more worthy of our time.”
Damn, so I guess the case was a bust, huh?” Barry asked, smile sympathetic.
“Not exactly,” Bruce said, a mild smirk on his lips as his eyes flicked between Clark and the monitor’s screen by Hal’s head. “Case went much better than expected… lots of value information was obtained. At least regarding a different… target’s motivations.”
“B.,” Clark chided and Hal spared a glance at Barry, who was staring at the duo in confusion.
“Oh-kay, so that wasn’t weird and cryptic at all.l” Hal drawled, swaying side to side in his seat until Bruce clamped a hand down on the arm rest. “Thanks for the summary gang, but unless you’re about to trade shifts with us, I’m not sure why you’re loitering and being all mysterious.”
“Hn. Nice try,” Bruce grunted, pulling out a plastic case filled with SD cards. “I’m going to need you to transcribe the rest of these audio files for me. I’ll be busy resuming my patrols and unfortunately you are the League member with the least shifts rostered so I assume you’ll be more than happy to pull your weight in anyway you can.”
“You know, you can just ask me for a favor without being a complete jackass about it,” Hal griped, snatching the case from Bruce before spinning back to the desk. Muttering to himself, Hal barely reacted at Clark’s passing goodbye, too busy loading up one of the cards onto the spare computer. Untucking a pair of headphones hung over the monitor, he lamely plugged them in and pulled up one of Bruce’s encrypted manual transcription softwares. Fingers idling on the keys, he waited for the file to load and turned his gaze toward Barry.
“Crazy to think Spooky got something wrong about a case.” Hal snorted, knocking the Speedsters foot when all he earned was a dismissive hum. “Earth to Allen. Lord Darkness being wrong about something is like the first sign of the apocalypse.”
”You know,” Barey began, slowly inclining his head as he looked at Hal. “You may want to sit down someday and consider why you’re so obsessed with Bruce.”
“I think sometimes inside thoughts are inside thoughts for a reason,” Hal muttered, ignoring Barry’s huffed chuckle as a notification dinged on the screen stating the file was ready for listening. Tapping in his authorized access code, Hal sighed as he skimmed past lines of static, jotting down timestamps and cinversations between Clark and Bruce that bordered more on bickering than constructive discussions of their case.
“Those two need to fuck already,” Hal said under his breath, surprised Bruce included recording from their room. It must’ve slipped his mind and Hal rolled his eyes. “Spooks really is getting lazy. Maybe he avoids vacations for a reason, definitely throws his obsession with detail off kilter.”
“Are you going to narrate the entire time?” Barry asked, earning a sharp glare. “Sorry, sorry, just you may as well play it out loud if I’m going to be stuck with a contextless podcast.”
Hal shrugged. “Your funeral Allen.”
Disconnecting the headphones, Hal continued to type as Barry kept a tracker of every middle manner version of cursing Clark used while arguing with Bruce.
“Surely he won’t notice if I skim some parts right, there’s only so much whining from Clark I can take.” Hal groaned as he listened to Clark complain about needing food. “There’s a giant chuck of audio near the end, that’s probably the most important stuff anyway.”
Barry gave him an amused look, shrugging a single shoulder. “Your funeral.”
Dragging the audio bar along, Hal clicked at the beginning of a wide band of feedback. When the cursor skipped forward slightly, he cursed. As he went to reset it to the beginning of the audio cluster, Clark’s voice broke through the speakers.
“— feel too good—” The tail end sound of a breathy voice speaking crackled through the room, followed quickly by the most obscene slaps of sweat slick skin colliding. and a deep moan from a source Hal would have never predicted. “—so fucking perfect for me, B.”
“Wait, no, that wasn’t…” Barry gaped at Hal, shuffling his chair in closer as the two of them stared at the screen, all attempts at transcribing abandoned. “Was that… Is that Clark?”
“Shut the fuck—“” Hal’s bewilderment was cut off by another frantic moan and another voice speaking. One now far too familiar to his ears, though the dizzying amount of lust pouring through it had Hal stammering in surprise.
“Close. I’m so close. Kal, please, fuck me harder, I need you—”
“Oh my god, what the fuck!” Barry slammed a hand on the keyboard, stopping the audio’s playback as Bruce let out an obscene noise that Barry knew would play on a traumatizing loop in his brain during the next League meeting.
Hal pushed back and away from the desk as though burned. Spinning in his chair, he threw an incredulous look at a very pale looking Barry. “Spooks did not just dump his Super Sex Tape on me to transcribe!”